


Entangled Arms (or a vacant space)

by vinoharry



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, Kid Fic, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinoharry/pseuds/vinoharry
Summary: When Harry first approached him at the bar, hips swinging and walking dick first, Zayn thought it was going to a night of perfunctory small talk before they fell into bed together.But Zayn got so much more than he bargained for.





	Entangled Arms (or a vacant space)

It starts innocently.

Zayn is sitting in the pub with Niall when Harry saunters across the room to ask if the empty seat at their table is taken.

For a moment, Zayn can’t do anything other than nod dumbly with his mouth hanging half open at the ridiculously good looking man gesturing to the seat in front of him.

When Zayn manages to drag his eyes away from the tattoos adorning the man’s chest, he’s met with a tentative, hopeful smile. Zayn glances nervously at Niall because _yes_ , the seat is actually for Niall’s girlfriend, and _Jesus_ does Zayn want this stranger to join them. He has an easy confidence about him and looks the picture of ease with a half drunken margarita in one hand and the other hand resting on the seat of the barstool. He has a white and blue striped shirt that’s unbuttoned enough for Zayn to see a long necklace and a light smattering of chest hair.

Zayn stares long enough that Harry actually looks between the two of them and starts to back off.

“Oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were togeth-”

“Hiya babes!” Zayn’s head whips so fast he feels the vodka splash around his stomach. Isla smacks a kiss on Niall’s lips before noticing the stranger at their table. “How rude,” the tall redhead sticks a hand out to Harry. “M’Isla.”

“Harry,” Harry says and whatever hesitance he held a minute ago seems to dissipate.

Isla gives him a megawatt smile and shakes his hand with her usual enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you.” She slings her arm around Niall’s shoulders and drags him out of his seat. “Buy me a drink, yeah?”

Zayn feels exposed now that Niall and Isla are gone and he has all of Harry’s attention.

“M’Zayn,” he says, reaching his hand out.

Harry grins wide, placing his drink on the table and shaking his hand. Instead of taking the barstool, Harry slips into Niall’s abandoned spot.

“I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Zayn feels shy and timid in a way that he hasn’t since he was twenty-two and moved to London by himself. It took him months to adjust to the busy streets and the anonymity of the city. He worked long hours doing internships until he was finally hired at Corden Advertising. He was lucky to meet Niall on his third day of work, when he was awkwardly getting to know the creative team he was leading. Niall strode into Zayn’s office without knocking, sticking his hand in Zayn’s face, and introducing himself as one of the account executives he’d be working with. Zayn had shaken his hand and found himself at a pub six hours later.

“So,” Harry says, drumming his fingers on the table. When his eyes meet Zayn’s he flushes and looks at the table, biting his lip. They’re really nice lips, Zayn notices. Plush and pink and Zayn kind of wants to kiss him and feel them under his own lips. “Are you into men?” he blurts out suddenly and Zayn can’t help the surprised cackle that escapes from his mouth.

Whatever apprehensiveness Zayn has about Harry disappears as soon as they start talking. Zayn learns that Harry spent eighteen months working as a photographer in Los Angeles and has been back in town for a week now. He learns that Harry talks with his hands and swirls his fingers around the lip of the glass of his cocktail while he’s listening. He learns that Harry laughs with his mouth wide open and his eyes squeezed shut, that he holds eye contact without making it awkward.

Their bubble is broken when Niall and Isla come back with a round of cinnamon whiskey and a pitcher of beer. No one mentions how they were gone for a suspiciously long time and Isla’s curls have gotten a bit frizzier. As soon as Niall mentions his guitar, Harry excitedly tells him that he’s a songwriter and the two enthusiastically discuss their favourite musicians. Zayn doesn’t have a lot in common with them on that subject, so he hangs in the background and just lets them talk.

At some point, Harry links his pinky with Zayn’s under the table and once they finish another pitcher and Harry buys them tequila shots, Harry rests his hand on Zayn’s thigh. It’s comfortable and shockingly familiar for the short time they spend in the pub and when Isla announces that she has to get going, Harry asks Zayn, with bright eyes and a shy smile, to accompany him back to his flat.

It’s awkward for a while as they kiss on Harry’s doorstep; Zayn’s hyperaware of his hands on Harry’s hips and the dryness of his lips. But then Harry closes the space between them, fists his hands in Zayn’s shirt, and just _kisses_ him. They pull apart long enough for Harry to escort them inside before crowding Zayn against the door and kissing and kissing and kissing him. Zayn can’t remember the last time he got this aroused from just kissing and a bit of wandering hands. Harry’s hands are cold when he teases them under Zayn’s shirt and holds onto the bare skin of Zayn’s waist. Zayn’s lips feel numb and his legs a bit like jelly.

His foggy mind clears a bit as he nips his way down Harry’s neck and when Harry lets out a long, drawn out moan, Zayn knows that there’s no way he’s turning back.

“Where’s your room?” He pants, finding Harry’s hands in the dark.

Harry leads them there with the lights still off. There are boxes stacked in his bedroom and the walls are completely bare, but there’s a bed and a mattress and fluffy duvets that Harry spends an agonizing amount of time blowing him on.

Tingles run down Zayn’s spine as he stretches his arms above his head. He wiggles his toes, nudging Harry with his knee. Harry smiles up at him, spit and a bit of come on his chin. His eyes are shiny in the darkness.

“C’mere,” Zayn says while flopping his arms onto the mattress beside him.

Harry crawls his way up Zayn’s body until he’s straddling Zayn’s stomach, mindful of his softening cock.

“You sure you’re up for it?” Harry asks with a smirk. It disappears when Zayn wraps his hand around Harry’s leaking dick. He comes quickly, streaking come across Zayn’s chest. He doesn’t seem the least bit apologetic when he smacks his hand into it, giggling.

“You’re disgusting,” Zayn says.

“You’re the one with come on your chest,” Harry tells him.

Zayn rolls his eyes and watches Harry’s small arse jiggle as he runs to the bathroom. Zayn leaves later that night with a skip in his step and a new number in his phone.

 

Zayn nearly trips over his feet as he rushes down the corridor and into the boardroom.

Harry came over late last night and he declined a sleepover although he stayed until well past two in the morning. Zayn woke up feeling sore and disoriented, completely forgetting about the board meeting that’s been scheduled for over a week.

Technically he’s only eight minutes late, but if there’s one thing James Corden values more than creativity, it’s punctuality and unfortunately, Zayn hasn’t brought any of either to the meeting. He makes fleeting eye contact with Josh, one of his designers, from across the table as he settles into an empty seat beside Niall.

“Ah, Zayn,” James says from the head of the table. “Nice of you to join us.”

“Sorry Corden,” Zayn murmurs, staring at the table like a scolded dog.

It seems that the entire floor is there and Zayn flushes under their stares.

“Anyway Bronwyn,” James says, reverting his attention back to the arse-kissing blonde seated beside him. “Where were you?”

“Well,” Bronwyn leers at Zayn before turning back to their boss, “I just wanted to take this opportunity to let you all know that I’m three months pregnant.”

Immediately, the room bursts into applause. Zayn can only manage half-heartedly bringing his hands together. Niall elbows him hard in the ribs as he claps with vigor.

James makes a big show of standing from his seat and giving Bronwyn a hug. She smiles delightedly, basking in the attention of the dozen clapping hands. Sophia, the other designer on his team, sniffles as she rounds the table to scoop Bronwyn into a hug as well. Josh claps enthusiastically and the accountants standing against the windows crack smiles Zayn didn’t know they were capable of.

“But I don’t want to make this about me,” Bronwyn says once the applause has settled down. “I was just saying that the Hall’s were so pleased with the work we did for them that they sent us a massive fruit basket.”

Zayn catches Niall’s eye and suppresses an eye roll. He’s been trying to keep them under control, but it’s just so damn hard.

“Lovely,” James smiles, “and where is it?”

“I had to keep it on my desk. It was just too large for me to carry by myself.”

Zayn can’t control his eye roll this time. In fact, the more Bronwyn brags about how integral she was to the team’s success, the more Zayn finds himself slumping in his seat, wishing he had at least stopped for a coffee beforehand.

 

“I just don’t understand,” Zayn bursts.

He’s still agitated from the meeting; keyed up and in desperate need of a cigarette.

“She sits there and goes on and on about how fucking fantastic she was when it was a team effort,” Zayn rants. “Sophia’s the one who came up with the design and Josh added the colours. Jesus, all she did was come up with a slogan. And as if I’m not the creative director! As if I didn’t spend every fucking night stuck in my office last month! I was the one making the phone calls, doing the late night organizing, and trying to sort through her mess of chicken-scratch notes-”

“Zayn-”

“She undermines me at every opportunity,” Zayn says. “She’s fucking mad.”

“She’s pregnant,” Niall defends with a slanted frown. “She’s allowed to be mad.”

“Either way, it’s fucking ridiculous, Niall,” Zayn finishes. “ _I’m_ the creative director,” Zayn emphasizes. “I get she’s bitter that I was hired for the role, but too fucking bad. It’s been a year she needs to grow the fuck up.”

Niall’s doing that uncomfortable grimace he does whenever he doesn’t know how to respond to Zayn’s outbursts. “Technically, she’s older than you.”

“Technically, she’s got a cactus stuck up her arse,” Zayn retorts. He knows it’s immature, but he can’t help himself. He bites on his thumbnail and wills his heart to beat at a regular pace.

Ever since he started at James’s advertising firm, he’s felt like the only person he doesn’t mesh with is Bronwyn. He applied for the job on a whim, and although he had experience and a lengthy list of references, he didn’t expect to actually be hired as a creative director at twenty-five. Apparently, Bronwyn felt the same. She gave him a firm handshake before seeming to turn her nose up at him. She put in her nine to five work day and never seemed to go above and beyond for the company.

Not once has she engaged Zayn in conversation. In fact, she goes out of her way to make her distaste for him palpable. She’ll leave the lunchroom if he’s making a coffee and if they arrive to work at the same time, she’ll take the stairs instead of the elevator. Other than a passing comment from Niall about how Bronwyn’s been at the company since she was interning for the preceding copywriter, Zayn doesn’t know what grudge she could possibly hold against him.

“She might warm up to you if you try to talk to her,” Niall suggests.

This time, Zayn grimaces. “It’s been a year, Ni.” He rests his head on the back of his chair and stares at the ceiling tiles. “Nothing’s going to change.”

 

Zayn’s phone vibrates when he’s in the middle of wrestling Niall into the sofa.

They both freeze and Niall looks up at him with wide red eyes and a stifling laugh. “Is that-”

Zayn stops trying to get the burning joint Niall had been wasting and clamours to the opposite end of the sofa.

“It’s my phone, idiot,” he says. He pulls his phone out of his front pocket and waves it in front of Niall’s face. Niall breathes a loud sigh of relief and sucks on the joint as Zayn gets off the sofa. “Like I would get a boner for you,” he mumbles under his breath.

Zayn answers the call as he makes his way to his feet.

“Hey,” Zayn says, sounding more breathless than he anticipated. He coughs to clear the smoke out of his chest.

“It’s okay, Malik,” Niall yells at his back, “everyone gets hard for me!”

“Um,” Harry says through the line.

Zayn shuffles to his bedroom and shuts the door.

“Sorry,” Zayn apologizes with a laugh. “Niall and I were wrestling and he thought my vibrating phone was-”

“A dildo?”

“I was going to say a boner,” Zayn provides. Harry laughs down the line and even though Zayn’s limbs feel like lead, he still feels a fizzle of arousal at the sound.

“Oh,” Harry laughs this time. “Both are fun.”

“Suppose so,” Zayn agrees, trying his best not to picture Harry with a vibrating dildo up his arse. “What’re you up to?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out. I’m coming back from a dinner with mates and I thought you might be free?”

Instantly, Zayn thinks of the easiest method to get Niall out of his apartment. He must take too long to answer because Harry starts backtracking.

“Of course if Niall’s over and you’re busy, I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not, trust me.” Zayn bites on his lip. He’s interested in seeing Harry—he truly, always is—but this is the first time in ages that he’s gotten to hang out with Niall. “I’m not gonna lie, like, Niall and I have been smoking pretty much all night and-”

“Cigarettes?” Harry cuts in.

“No, it’s weed,” Zayn clarifies. “Is that like, a problem?”

“Nope,” Harry says. “Cigarette smoke irritates my throat. But I can smoke weed if it’s from a joint or shot-gunned.”

Zayn pictures himself lounging against his headboard with a lapful of naked Harry. He imagines himself taking a drag from the joint, watching Harry watch him. His eyes would probably get squinty like they do when he’s getting fingered. What if he was fingering himself while shotgunning? God, what if Harry rode him, deep and slow, rocking back and forth as he inhales the smoke from Zayn’s lips. “Um,” Zayn says, fumbling over himself.

“Come over.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks. “I’ve had a bit to drink.”

“That’s fine,” Zayn says quickly. “Come over, I—come over.”

“Well if you insist,” Harry laughs. “I’ll be there in less than half an hour, is that okay?”

Zayn readjusts his dick in his jeans. “More than, I’ll see you then.”

When he walks back into the living room, Niall’s already packed up his belongings; his hat is back on his head and his laptop has been slipped back into his bag.

“Well if you weren’t hard before, you are now mate.”

Zayn blushes to the tips of his ears. “I hate you.”

Niall blows him a kiss as he gets to his feet. “Love you, bro.”

 

Before Zayn started casually sleeping with Harry, he had a serious girlfriend for four years.

His mum loved her and treated her like another daughter. She got along with his sisters, was interested in his career, and was beautiful, kind, and driven.

Obviously she and Zayn didn’t work out and it’s been nearly two years since they broke up, but… there are still times that a song will come on and he’ll think of her or she’ll come up on his Twitter feed and he’ll wonder how she’s doing.

But it’s been ages since he’s thought of her. He doesn’t even know where she’s working or if her phone number is the same. Which is why it comes as a bit of a shock when his mum calls to tell Zayn that she’s been invited to his ex’s wedding.

“Wedding?” He asks, stopping in the middle of his kitchen. His phone stays glued to his ear as he waits for his mum to keep talking.

“Yes, Zayn. She’s getting married in November.”

“November?” Zayn repeats. “That’s three months away.”

Trisha laughs. “Yes, dear, I noticed.”

“Well, why the hell did she invite you?”

“Thanks, Zayn,” his mum says.

“No, mum-”

“I know what you meant, baby. It’s not that strange that I still talk with her. I ran into her at the pub with her fiancé in the spring and we caught up.”

“That is strange, mum.”

“You’ve talked to her,” his mum says, accusing this time.

“She wished me a happy birthday. I don’t think that really counts as talking.”

His mum tisks under her breath. “It’s not usual to stay on good terms with your ex. Especially when you were together for so long and had such a commitment to each other.”

“That was two years ago mum.” Zayn rubs his temples. “Are you going?”

“I was going to, yeah. She asked Doniya to do the hair and makeup.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, suddenly seeing the invitation in a different light.

“She extended the invitation to you and the girls as well.” His mum should know that he has no intention on going. He wonders where she’s actually going with this. “She even included a plus one for you.”

And… there it is.

“I’m not going.”

“Zayn-”

“It would be too weird.”

“Are you not going because you think it would be uncomfortable or because you wouldn’t have a date?” Trisha says, teasing.

“Mum,” Zayn groans. “I don’t want to go for personal reasons.”

“Personal as in single?” Trisha asks with a laugh.

“I’m not telling you,” he decides.

“So you’re seeing someone!” Trisha all but squeals. “Who is she?”

“It’s a he,” Zayn says before he can stop himself. Even though his parents accept that he’s attracted to both, he can’t help the thump of his heart as he says it.

Fortunately, his mum doesn’t miss a beat in squealing louder.

“Don’t tell the Aunties,” Zayn says quickly.

“Who is he? What does he look like?”

“It’s casual, mum… It’s early days.” Zayn bites on his lip and adamantly hates his life.

“What’s his name? Let me find him on Facebook.”

“Mum!” Zayn laughs.

“I won’t add him, I promise.”

Zayn shakes his head. He can’t believe his life sometimes. “He doesn’t have Facebook. He says he doesn’t believe in it.”

“Oh jaan,” Trisha sighs dreamily. “I’m so happy for you, it’s been so long.”

“It has not,” Zayn argues.

“You’ll have to bring him over. Your father will want to meet him of course. And your sisters. And I suppose if you make the trip up here we might as well invite your cousins to come. Oh, it will be just like Doniya’s wedding!”

“Mum, no-”

But Trisha’s not listening. She starts nattering on a mile a minute, deciding which weekends work best and how she’ll need help with the cooking. Zayn just puts the phone face up on the counter and starts making his morning coffee.

 

Harry rolls off Zayn and removes the condom from him. He’s sweaty and his hair has formed tiny spirals near his ears. Zayn reaches out and tugs one.

“Thanks,” he breathes, rolling over and kissing Zayn’s bicep. He climbs off the bed and struts to the bathroom, the tied condom hanging by his thigh. His muscles flex with every step he takes. Zayn finds it hard to look away.

“Nice arse,” Zayn calls.

Harry swivels, striking a pose with a hand on his cocked hip. His dick swings and Zayn ignores whatever ridiculous face Harry is sure to be making in favour of staring at his dick. It’s quite a nice dick and for a moment, Zayn’s jealous it’s not his. Then he remembers that he actually gets to suck and blow and be fucked by that dick and he’s not all that jealous after all.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks, joining Zayn under the duvet again.

“Your dick,” Zayn answers honestly.

“Of course.” Harry rolls his eyes. He walks his fingers across Zayn’s abdomen before shoving one in Zayn’s belly button.

Zayn squirms and bats him away, but wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders and drags him in.

Usually, after Harry discards of the condom, he’ll slide on his boxers and start gathering his things together. Except two days ago he made tea for them at one in the morning before they ate peanut butter toast and got crumbs on the covers.

Tonight, it doesn’t seem that he’s in any rush to leave either. Zayn doesn’t know what that means. They haven’t discussed what they’ve been for the past few weeks, although Zayn knows Harry’s not sleeping with anybody else. He hasn’t been back to Harry’s since the first night, but it works for him because he can just slip on boxers and fall asleep while Harry has to drive home. Zayn doesn’t know what’s going to happen tonight.

“What are you thinking about?” Zayn asks, swallowing past the anxiousness creeping up his throat.

Harry opens his mouth before closing it quickly. He leans in slow and steady, kissing Zayn until his tongue is heavy and he can’t remember what he just asked. He can feel his dick getting hard—something that’s recurrent now that Harry’s in his life.

“Your bed is warm,” Harry answers. He snuggles into Zayn’s chest and scratches at the hair smattering his lower belly. “Also, um. I was thinking about,” Harry clears his throat. “You’re not like, seeing anyone else right now, are you?”

Zayn bites back a sarcastic remark and shakes his head. He realizes that Harry can’t see that so he speaks instead. “Just you.”

Harry shifts so he’s got his chin propped on Zayn’s pec.

“Want to go on a date with me, then?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says easily.

Harry looks devastatingly young when he stares at Zayn with wide, honest eyes and asks, “Can I stay here tonight?”

Harry must be able to feel the way Zayn’s heart speeds up, but he doesn’t say anything. Zayn tucks his knuckles under Harry’s chin and pulls him in for a kiss instead.

 

When he wakes up, Zayn’s got a mouthful of pillow and saliva drying on his chin. He snorts over half a snore and rubs his eyes tiredly. He can’t remember what he was dreaming of, but his stomach rumbles and he forces himself to get up and find something to eat when—

“Sexy,” Harry comments.

Zayn jerks which only makes Harry laugh louder in the quiet of the morning.

“Shut up,” Zayn groans with absolutely no heat behind it. He’d forgotten Harry was here, in Zayn’s bed, naked… and watching Zayn in all his morning glory. Harry clearly doesn’t seem put off by Zayn’s unattractive state what with the way he slides closer, placing one of his massive hands on Zayn’s waist and pulling him in. His body is warm and hard against Zayn’s, inviting. Zayn squints at Harry in a way he hopes is threatening. He should probably brush his teeth and drink a massive glass of water, but Harry kisses his cheekbone and Zayn assumes they won’t be leaving the bed anytime soon.

“Is this why you didn’t invite me to sleep over sooner?” Harry teases, wiping at the spit drying at the corner of Zayn’s lip.

It should be gross, but for some reason, it’s comfortable, intimate.

Zayn feels Harry’s dick hardening against his thigh, his eyes flitting between Zayn’s mouth and eyes.

“Shut up,” Zayn repeats, weakly punching at Harry’s chest. He can feel the blush surfacing. It’s not from embarrassment, though. Arousal burns red hot and so urgent that Zayn’s chest heaves against Harry’s when he breathes in. Their noses are nearly touching, lips a hair’s inch apart. Their breathing is loud and weighted and Zayn wants him so bad, although he’s not willing to snap first.

Harry licks his lips, inching his toe until it rests against the top of Zayn’s foot.

“Make me,” Harry murmurs.

It’s cliché, but Zayn’s stomach lurches as he rolls on top of Harry.

Harry goes easily, kissing Zayn with surprisingly minty breath.

Zayn pulls back, glaring. “How long have you been awake for?” he asks.

Harry ducks back in for another kiss. “A while,” he admits. He bites his lip with a perfect tooth and smiles so wide his eyes crinkle.

Zayn ignores the pitter-patter in his heart and glares, “And you just stared at me like a serial killer?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, leaning in again.

Before Harry’s lips reach him though, Zayn pinches Harry’s nipple, quick and sharp. Harry gasps and spasms; tongue dashing out to lick his lips. His eyes look darker and his cheeks redder when he grabs Zayn’s hand and intertwines their fingers.

“C’mere,” Harry says softer.

Zayn closes his eyes and gives in, letting Harry kiss him with tongue and teeth. He doesn’t have time to worry about how his breath might smell. All he cares about is the way Harry’s hips are grinding in tight circles, the way Harry’s dick inched further and further up Zayn’s thigh, and the way he’s making these needy moans every time Zayn’s tongue so much as bumps his own.

Harry groans, sucking down Zayn’s throat and latching onto his collarbone.

“Fuck.” Zayn buries his hand in the short hair by Harry’s nape. He scratches his blunt nails down Harry’s neck and digs them into Harry’s shoulders just enough to have Harry panting. “Alright?” Zayn asks, just to make sure.

Harry looks up and—fuck, Zayn has to take a steadying breath. Harry’s eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated and mouth so pink that his lips look swollen. In all the weeks that they’ve been doing this, Zayn never tires from seeing Harry turned on. It’s as though he’s so aroused that he becomes hyper-focused on turning Zayn on in the most unfocused way. He has to touch Zayn everywhere—sliding his hands up Zayn’s side and down his abdomen, over the head of his hard cock and around his hip to grab his arse. He also can’t seem to get enough of clumsily kissing Zayn’s lips, his cheeks, sucking a mark near his collarbone, and lapping his tongue on every inch of skin it can get near.

“Wanna suck you,” he slurs into Zayn’s throat.

Zayn’s hips jerk and his fingers clench around the back of Harry’s neck and _Harry_ moans as if he’s the one about to get his dick sucked.

“God, yes,” Zayn says.

If Zayn thought that Harry was going to be quick at it though, he was wrong.

Harry kisses down Zayn’s throat again, nipping at the mark on his collarbones, and then biting at his nipples. Zayn’s nipples aren’t sensitive—not nearly as sensitive as Harry’s—but he can appreciate the effort that Harry puts into worshiping his body. However, it feels like they’ve been teasing each other for ages and Zayn just wants Harry to get on with it. He’ll probably reward Harry by fingering him again.

Just the thought of fingering Harry again, opening him up until he falls apart, begging for Zayn to fuck him…

Harry hasn’t even reached Zayn’s dick, but he’s already hauling him up by the armpits.

“I wanted-” Harry starts, although he’s promptly cut off by Zayn’s hands on his arse. “Oh,” Harry breathes. Zayn squeezes. “Oh,” he moans, softer.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks.

Harry nods, kissing Zayn’s cheek. “Want it.”

“How?”

“I can ride you again,” he offers.

Zayn grins; pleased. His favourite kind of morning sex is the slow, lazy stuff where he doesn't have to do any of the work.

“If you insist,” Zayn shrugs.

“I wasn’t,” Harry huffs. But he kisses Zayn on the cheek nonetheless.

He watches with delight as Harry grabs a condom and the half-empty bottle of lube from atop the bedside table. He hands them to Zayn and bends over, propping himself up on his hands and knees. The fact that Zayn can’t see beyond Harry’s strong chest and arms just means that he has to feel around for a bit.

And he does.

He runs his knuckles down Harry’s side, over the tight skin on his firm tiny arse, and finally sinks a finger into Harry.

Harry shivers, arching his back so Zayn’s finger nudges in deeper.

“Can fuck yourself if you like,” Zayn suggests.

Harry ducks his head and nods. The top part of his hair is almost long enough to flop down and brush Zayn’s chest. Harry pulls forward as Zayn removes his finger to the tip and when Harry slinks back, it’s on two fingers this time.

He gasps and shivers a second time. Harry is gorgeous like this; flushed and needy and nudging the underside of Zayn’s dick as he rocks forward and back.

“‘Nother,” Harry rasps and Zayn happily obliges. It’s another minute before Harry finally looks up at Zayn.

Zayn kisses his chin, his cheeks, his nose. Harry’s overwhelmed and Zayn’s more than pleased to indulge him. Although, the way Harry moans Zayn’s name as if he’s five seconds away from coming does add some urgency.

Zayn’s just about to ask if Harry’s good to go when the shrill sound of a ringtone cuts through their bubble.

“What…” Harry asks, foggy.

“Don’t answer it,” Zayn says. His fingers are already reaching for the condom.

“I-” Harry glances between Zayn and where his phone lies somewhere on the floor. “I have to,” he says regretfully.

Zayn removes his fingers, holding onto Harry’s hips. “No, c’mon. I want you to ride me.”

“I want to ride you,” Harry says, biting his lip. Still, he hauls himself off of Zayn and stumbles onto shaking legs to retrieve it. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Harry escapes to the bathroom and Zayn sprawls out on the bed. He wipes his fingers on the pillow beside his head. With the amount of saliva on it, he’d have to wash it anyway. He thinks about all the things he has to do today—grocery shop, laundry, refill the beer fridge, and call Niall. After five minutes though, Zayn decides that waiting for Harry is fruitless.

He gets out of bed and pulls a new pair of boxers on. He can’t find his shirt, so he grabs Harry’s undershirt and pads his way downstairs. He brews a pot of coffee, digs out the bread from the pantry, and pops some in the toaster. By the time he’s spreading peanut butter on the third piece, Harry trots down the stairs.

“Hey,” Zayn starts. His face falls when he sees Harry fully clothed.

“Is that my undershirt?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, still holding the knife and half-smeared toast. “Leaving?”

“Bit of an emergency,” Harry shrugs.

“Is everything alright?” Zayn asks, confused. As far as he knows Harry’s sister lives on the other side of London and his mum still lives in his hometown.

“Yeah.” Harry grins easily as he says it. “Just have to defuse a situation.” Before Zayn can ask, Harry continues, “I’m excited for our date though.”

“Me too,” Zayn laughs. He holds up his breakfast. “You want some toast to go?”

Harry drags Zayn in by the wrist and kisses him slow. “Love some. Thanks, babe.”

Zayn blushes despite himself. He hands Harry the toast and pinches his waist at the same time. “Go. I’ll see you later.”

“Later for our _date_ ,” Harry emphasizes. He bites into the toast and winks at Zayn then in a flurry of giggles and farewells, he’s gone.

 

In the staffroom, Zayn’s pouring his first coffee of the day when Bronwyn swings the door open and sends it slamming into the water cooler.

Zayn jumps, alarmed, and spills hot coffee all over his hand. The cup falls into the sink—which blessedly doesn’t smash—but it does send his cup of coffee swirling down the drain.

“Fuck,” he curses. His hand burns and he can’t get the cold water on fast enough.

Zayn doesn’t even bother to turn around to see what Bronwyn’s doing. All he can hear is her clicking her heels around as she fiddles with her reusable grocery bags and unloads their contents into the fridge.

Zayn grabs his cup out of the sink and pours himself another cup.

Beside him, Bronwyn opens the cupboard by his head and nearly whacks him in the process. He ignores her as she slams a new container of coffee grounds onto the shelf.

Instead of dignifying her actions with an admonishment, he opens the carton of coffee creamer and pours a liberal amount into his mug.

“Do you always pour that much in?” Bronwyn says, abruptly.

Zayn glances at her then back at his coffee which is quickly lightening in colour. It’s a bit more than he normally puts in, but he skipped breakfast and was in the mood for something fatty.

“Ugh,” Bronwyn scoffs. “Please watch your consumption. I have to keep buying creamer and now I understand why.”

With that, she snatches her stupid reusable bag off the table counter and stalks out of the room.

The interaction leaves Zayn in a foul mood.

Harry wasn’t able to come over last night and Zayn resorted to pathetically jerking off in the shower. He woke up late with a bit of a headache and Harry still hasn’t responded to his text message asking when he wanted to go on that date.

Since their conversation, Zayn’s been trying not to change how he views their relationship, but it’s a bit of a jump from friends with benefits to having a vague discussion about entering into a relationship.

So, maybe it’s not just Bronwyn that has Zayn feeling frazzled for the day.

It doesn’t help that Niall enters his office at noon without even knocking.

“Hola,” Niall says, unpacking his lunch bag and offering Zayn one of two packaged sandwiches.

He must want something and Zayn’s on the defense the moment Niall also slides a package of Hobnobs towards him.

“Don’t you have like… accounting shit to do?”

Niall shrugs with a mouthful of sandwich. It’s chicken pesto with spinach cheese. Not Zayn’s favourite, but he’s never one to turn down Niall’s home cooking.

“So,” Niall says with a shit-eating grin. He plops into the seat opposite Zayn’s desk. “How are things with Harry?”

Zayn avoids Niall’s eyes and focuses on organizing his email folder.

“Zed,” Niall goads. “I know you’re not just fucking around.”

Zayn picks up his sandwich and takes a bite so big his jaw aches as he chews. It’s effective in buying him time though because Niall sighs and puts his sandwich down—something he only does when he’s being very, very serious.

“You’re getting pretty serious?”

“M’always serious,” Zayn says. “S’way I’m the boss.”

Niall rolls his eyes and grabs the Hobnobs. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He rips the edge of the package and sticks the entire biscuit in his mouth, milk chocolate side down.

“That’s gross, Ni,” Zayn tells him.

Niall just raises an eyebrow. Somehow, it’s enough to break him.

“Serious enough,” Zayn says. He breaks a biscuit in half and places them on his desk. “But he did spend the night last night?”

At Niall’s waggling eyebrows, Zayn’s quick to add, “And that’s all I’m going to say!”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Niall says. “I told you when I started dating Isla.”

“We got high and you would tell me graphic details about her breasts,” Zayn replies. “Trust me, I wasn’t asking.”

“They’re good breasts,” Niall says with a pout. He shoves half the sandwich in his mouth and chews with a frown.

Zayn enjoys a few moments of blissful silence before Niall talks again.

“You should invite him to my birthday party.”

Zayn glares.

“It’s in a month, Zayn,” Niall says. “If you don’t invite him, I’ll add him on Facebook.”

“He doesn’t have Facebook,” Zayn smirks.

“Doesn’t—doesn’t have _Facebook_!” Niall puts his sandwich down and looks scandalized. “Who the fuck is this guy? Does he have Instagram?”

“Used to,” Zayn says because he spent an hour drunkenly scrolling through the old posts once he found it. “He hasn’t posted in a year though and it’s mostly all sunsets or old pictures from school.”

“I’ll get his number from your phone and call him myself. You know I will.”

Zayn pales, knowing it’s not an empty threat. “Fine.”

“Good,” Niall slurps his smoothie and rests his hands over his stomach. “Invite him now.”

“Niall-”

“Come on,” Niall whines.

Zayn sighs and stares at his phone. With a glance back to Niall, he realizes that he won’t give up until Zayn calls him.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he groans, grabbing his phone.

Niall cheers because he’s actually five years old. “Put him on speakerphone,” Niall whispers.

Zayn swivels in his chair so his back is to Niall as the phone rings.

And rings and rings and rings.

“He’s not picking up,” Zayn tells him.

And then-

“Hi babes!” Harry sounds bright and cheery on the other side of the phone. “I was just gonna text you.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, flushing. He lowers the volume on his phone although he’s positive that Niall can’t hear him. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Zayn can tell by his voice that he’s smiling. “Was doing some freelance work earlier, but now I’m just at home. How’s work?”

“Dull. Niall’s being a pain in my arse.”

Harry laughs. “You like pains in your arse though.”

“Stop,” Zayn flushes as Harry cackles louder. “Actually speaking of Niall-”

“Wait, sorry one second.”

Zayn bites his lip as there’s muffling on Harry’s end. He can’t hear what’s going on and for a moment, he thinks Harry’s hung up on him. Then he’s back, whispering lowly. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Everything alright?” Zayn asks.

“Yep,” Harry hums. He’s still quiet.

“Okay. Um, so I know it’s a bit far in advance, but Niall’s birthday’s on the 13th of September and I was wondering if you’d want to come out with us?” When there’s more silence, Zayn elaborates. “We’ll just be going to a pub, might go dancing later, but I’m not much of a dancer. He’s looking forward to seeing you,” Zayn tacks on.

“Oh,” Harry says. “Um, I think I can? I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I should be able to. I’ll just have to um, check.”

“Oh,” Zayn parrots. He feels foolish. “Of course, yeah. Like I said it’s in September, so.”

“Yeah,” Harry says.

Zayn’s uncomfortably quiet. He feels like he’s missing something, but he’s not sure what it could be. He waits for Harry to say he’s got to hang up.

“Actually, since it’s a ways away, would you want to come out with me and my friend? We’ve been going to these quiz nights at this pub on Mondays. Would you want to come? You can bring Niall. Isla too, of course.”

Instantly, Zayn is flooded with relief.

“Of course,” He says, smiling despite himself. “I’m shit at those, but I’ll let them know, yeah?”

“Yeah?” It’s quiet and then there’s a clatter from Harry’s end of the phone. “Shit,” he curses. “Um. I’ve got to go, Zayn, sorry.”

“S’alright,” Zayn says. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Soon,” Harry promises before ringing off.

Zayn tips his head back and breathes. It’s suddenly too hot in his office.

“How’d it go?” Niall asks.

“Fuck.” Zayn jerks, dropping his phone on the floor. He had forgotten Niall was there.

“Um, he’ll see if he can come.” He swivels in his chair and glances at his sandwich. There’s a bite taken out of it. “In the meantime, he invited us to a pub quiz night this Monday.”

“Pub quiz!” Niall shouts, clenching his fist excitedly. “I’ll have to study up on my general knowledge.”

“Those questions are all shit.”

“You only think that because you never know any of the answers,” Niall retorts.

“Get out of my office,” Zayn flips him off.

 

Zayn places his hand on Harry’s thigh to calm the jiggling.

“Relax, you’re doing fine,” he says.

Harry sends him a small smile and covers Zayn’s hand with his own.

“Sorry,” he says. He reaches for his mojito and takes a sip.

He leans in and whispers, “They already love you.” He emphasizes it with a kiss behind Harry’s ear.

“Oi,” Harry’s loudmouth friend Louis shouts, “listen to the question, I want that free beer.”

Zayn tries not to be annoyed with how brash Louis is. He trailed behind Harry until they reached Zayn’s table and then did a complete 180. He was loud and commanding, taking up more space than his stature would suggest. He immediately seized Niall’s attention as soon as he saw his phone background was a picture at a Derby County match; they fell into a conversation that somehow resulted in them arguing over Celta de Vigo and Bayern Munich. Personally, Zayn thinks they’re both overrated, but he’s not about to tell them that.

Isla seems taken with him too. She spends her time talking to Harry about his time in Los Angeles and listening to Louis tell another story about his work. It turns out that he’s a songwriter like Harry. Unlike Harry, he’s not a freelancer, and he’s been based in London for the past six years.

Zayn thinks he comes off as a bit brag-y, but he supposes if he worked with some of the biggest artists in the world, he would brag a bit too.

“We’re just having a chat, Lou,” Harry says.

Louis raises an eyebrow challengingly. “What’re you discussing? Anything of interest?”

“No,” Harry says quickly. He looks at his hands and Zayn instantly decides that he hates Louis. He doesn’t like how quickly Harry shut down, fiddling with his hands as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world.

Zayn takes a long sip of his third beer. He’s already feeling loose-limbed and tongue-heavy.

“Our last general knowledge question of the night,” the pub-quiz host introduces. “A newborn baby has how many cups of blood in their body?”

Niall shakes his head and gets off his stool. “Gonna grab a refill. Anyone want anything?”

“I’ll come,” Isla offers.

The back of Zayn’s neck itches when Louis glances at him.

“Again,” the pub guy says, “How many cups of blood does a newborn baby have in their body?”

“One,” Louis says. He picks up the pen Isla abandoned and writes in block letters.

“That doesn’t seem like enough,” Zayn counters. “They’re got to have at least two.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, clearly challenging Zayn. “Harry?”

Zayn’s irritation grows. He’s known Louis for less than an hour, but he already seems possessive and immature.

“It’s one yeah,” Harry nods.

“How do you know that?” Zayn asks.

“I read a baby book,” Harry supplies.

“I have a kid,” Louis says, talking over him. He looks at Zayn as if he’s daring him to make a judgement. “He’s six. Before he was born I read a bunch of parenting books.”

“Nice.”

“Do you have any kids?” Louis asks. He crosses his arms on the table and leans across it. The candle in the middle makes his eyes appear darker.

“What? No.” He says, shocked.

“Why’d you say what like that?” Louis probes.

Zayn resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s under attack. He refuses to back down though—he won’t break eye contact and let Louis feel like he’s won.

“I would tell you if I had a kid,” Zayn says. And yeah, his voice comes out a little more hostile than intended.

“Good, cause-”

“Lou,” Harry cuts in.

Louis snaps his mouth shut and picks up his beer. He leans back and takes a long drink, breaking their eye contact.

Zayn’s stomach feels uneasy, but it’s soothed by Harry rubbing the top of his thigh under the table.

“We brought shots!” Isla announces, with a smile.

“How much do I owe you?” Harry asks, reaching for his wallet.

Niall laughs, throwing an arm around his girlfriend and kissing the side of her head. “She got them for free.” Isla hops into her seat, preening. “She just flirted with the bartender and told him she was here for a bachelorette party.”

Isla shrugs, passing out the drinks. “They don’t know.”

They cheers in the middle before knocking the shots back. The spicy taste of cinnamon soothes Zayn’s throat on the way down.

“Eck,” Harry coughs, chasing his shot with his beer.

“Alright,” the pub-quiz host announces. “We’re going to start our music round!”

Niall flips their booklet to the next page and stares at the formatted table.

“Each song is worth two points; one for the artist and one for the song. I’m going to play the first twenty seconds twice, so do make sure you’re listening carefully. Here we go,” he says, practiced, into the microphone. “Song number one.”

The song plays, something rocky and unfamiliar. Someone starts to hoot and Zayn’s completely lost. He stares at their group around the table until Isla grabs the pen from Louis and scribbles something quick.

“What song is it?” Harry asks quietly.

“ _Take The Money and Run_ ,” she whispers, “The Steve Miller Band.”

“Woohoo!” Niall cheers, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend and kissing her on the cheek. “Genius, I had no fucking clue.”

Pub quiz guy tells them the second song’s coming up and Zayn’s equally as confused.

“This sounds like Ariana Grande,” Niall points out.

“It’s not,” Louis says certainly.

“It’s Lana Del Rey,” Harry says. He straightens up and the entire table goes silent as they listen to it play a second time. “ _Behind Closed Doors_ ,” he says. “Write that down.”

“You sure?” Louis asks raising a challenging eyebrow.

“I know my Lana, Lou.”

Louis winks, lifting his beer in a toast. Zayn itches to ask for the story—what that means and why he winked. But then a song starts playing and he actually knows it.

A slow beat fills the pub. It’s slow and familiar; Zayn listened to it in year nine when he downloaded Aaliyah’s discography.

“What the fuck is this?” Louis snorts. “It’s just some girl moaning.”

Niall turns beet red as he laughs, but Zayn leans into Harry and hums along when it plays for a second time.

Harry covers his mouth, cackling delightedly.

Isla points the pen at him accusingly. “You know the song!” She screeches. Her eyes are glossy and her cheeks rosy. Niall’s got his arm lazily wrapped around her chair.

“Aaliyah,” Zayn says easily. “ _Rock the Boat_.”

“Good,” Isla hums, writing it quickly.

“Nice, Malik.” And it shouldn’t mean so much—Louis reaching out a fist to bump with his—but Zayn finds himself preening as he leans forward, meeting Louis halfway.

When he sits back in his seat, Harry meets him with a quick kiss.

“How did you know that? There weren’t even any words.”

“I listened to it religiously when I was like fifteen,” he says. “It’s really sad actually; she died in a plane crash when she was flying back from filming the music video.”

Harry’s eyes go wide, his grip on Zayn’s arm tightens. “What? That’s so sad.”

“Yep,” Zayn agrees. He taps his fingers on the table, not knowing what to say. Luckily, he’s saved from saying more by the pub guy announcing the next song.

It’s later, after Harry’s flushed and drunk and cuddling into Zayn’s side, when the pub guy collected their booklets for the halfway point that Harry turns to him with wide eyes and tells him, very seriously, that he needs to tell him something outside. If it wasn’t for the nervous way he’s worrying his bottom lip, Zayn would just think he wanted to hook up.

“Everything okay?” Zayn asks, instantly concerned.

Harry nods and offers his hand for Zayn to lead him outside. They hold hands as they exit the pub, bursting into the cold night air without their jackets.

Zayn doesn’t know where to lead him, so he just kind of stops against the bricks. Harry drags him a bit farther from the entrance until their leaning against it comfortably.

“Alright?” Zayn asks, taking in the nervousness in Harry’s eyes. When Harry doesn’t respond, Zayn lifts Harry’s chin with his knuckles and kisses his nose. “Think we got most of the answers, right. No need to stress.”

“I’m not-” Harry shakes his head and looks at the ground. He mumbles something that Zayn can’t decipher through his three beers.

“What was that?” Zayn asks, ducking his head.

“Will you come to mine tonight?”

Zayn laughs, feeling the knot in his chest loosen. “Yeah,” he says. Harry smiles, but he still worries his bottom lip. Zayn kisses his nose and pulls back to look at him properly. “Was that all you wanted to say?”

Harry opens his mouth, then nods and leads in to kiss Zayn.

Zayn kisses back easily, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip chastely.

“You sure?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, meeting Zayn’s eyes. “Sorry,” he laughs, but his cheek doesn’t dimple. “Sorry, I’m being weird. I just—yeah, come home with me tonight.”

Zayn hauls Harry in by the hips and buries his nose in Harry’s neck.

As it turns out, Zayn’s flat is exponentially closer, so their plans change.

They take a cab back to Zayn’s flat, but as soon as they get through the door, Harry seems otherwise occupied.

“Gonna make some tea,” Harry says, slipping out of his shoes.

“Make me one?” Zayn asks, holding Harry’s hips and refusing to let go just yet.

Harry smiles, drunk and sleepy. “Of course.”

Zayn goes for a wee and by the time he comes back, Harry’s standing in his socks and briefs, preparing their drinks.

Zayn slides up behind him, kissing the back of Harry’s neck. “You’ve seemed tense all night,” he observes. He walks his fingers along the knobs of Harry’s spine.

Harry sighs and leans into the touch. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

Harry turns in Zayn’s arms and leans against the cupboards. It’s quiet save for the sound of the electric kettle gently boiling the water.

“I want to take you on a date,” he says. Zayn would be relieved at that admission, except Harry doesn’t look anymore eased.

“Okay,” Zayn says slowly.

Harry bites his bottom lip before continuing, “And I want to tell my mum about you. My sister knows because she’s nosy, but like I want to tell my friends about you—I wanna brag about you.”

“There’s nothing to brag about,” Zayn blushes.

Harry hooks his arms around Zayn’s neck and smiles. “Of course there is.” He buries his hand in the back of Zayn’s hair. “I also like, I want to text you just because and I want us to cook dinner together. I want us to go on dates, lots of dates. Whether they’re extravagant or we just get milkshakes. And I want us to tell each other things that like, matter y’know? I want to have those deep conversations that matter. I want to tell you anything and everything because I care about what you think.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” Harry says, but he looks at his feet. “I trust you a lot, Zayn.”

“I trust you too.”

“And I like you a lot too. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a relationship.”

“Oh, is that what you’re asking?” Zayn teases. He shuffles closer so he’s pressed against Harry’s chest. Even through his thin shirt, Zayn can feel that Harry’s heart is beating fast. “I’d love to be _in a relationship_ ,” Zayn mimics.

Harry flicks Zayn’s ear, pouting.

“Should I give you a jacket? Announce it on my Instagram?” Harry pinches Zayn’s side, but he doesn’t stop. “Should I ring my mum and tell her I have a boyfriend? Want me to put an advert in the paper? Should I get a tattoo so everyone knows I’m yours?”

“Shut up,” Harry growls.

When Zayn wakes up, he realizes he doesn’t need a tattoo—the massive love bite on his neck is enough.

 

Now that they’re _boyfriends_ , not a whole lot changes.

Zayn’s stomach still swoops when he talks to Harry on the phone and Niall still teases Zayn when he zones out during work meetings. Harry still kisses Zayn with an all-encompassing intensity and Zayn’s skin still feels like it’s on fire whenever Harry touches him.

But some things do change.

He sends his mum a picture of Harry cooking them dinner and they take selfies in bed with Zayn kissing Harry’s blotchy post-orgasm face. They spend time together without doing much of anything and when Harry’s mum calls him, he doesn’t leave the room to answer it. Zayn compromises and watches sappy rom-coms while Harry insists that he has a pillow barricade and two blankets before he’ll watch a psychological thriller.

Zayn’s happy and enamoured and Niall’s so smug it’s unbearable.

 

Zayn’s in the middle of scheduling a business lunch with a potential client when his phone rings. A candid photo of Harry eating a banana lights up his phone screen.

“Hi babes,” Zayn greets.

“I got a job!” Harry shouts, excitedly.

“Congratulations,” Zayn grins. “I didn’t know you had an interview.”

“I didn’t,” Harry says. “I was writing poems in my notebook and I ran into an old friend. He joined me for lunch and he was telling me that he has a bunch of friends in the music business and he said he could get me a job and stuff. He actually knows Lou! The building was just next door! It was such a coincidence. Nick took us there and I met the coordinator, Aimee, and it was just—it was awesome, Zayn. He said I can start whenever I want!”

Zayn can hardly process all that Harry’s said; he’s speaking so quickly for once.

“That’s great babe. I’m so happy for you.”

“I want to celebrate tonight,” Harry says. “Let me cook you dinner. I want to—I want to celebrate.”

Zayn twirls in his desk chair and faces the big, open windows.

“Yeah, I’d love that. Should I grab some groceries or did you want to bring them to mine?”

“Actually I was hoping you could come to mine tonight? If not, that’s fine, I mean-”

“Harry, breathe,” Zayn teases, “I’d love to come over. I’ll bring some bubbly.”

 

Zayn’s in the middle of a longwinded story about how Josh and Niall were playing finger footy in the lunchroom while Sophia ate an entire loaf of stale bread, when he notices how quiet Harry’s grown. He’s swirling his wine in its glass, red staining the edges momentarily until it glides down to the rest of the wine. His eyebrows are drawn in and his lips pursed. Zayn doesn’t know how long he’s been zoned out for.

“Sorry,” Zayn says, stopping midsentence. “Don’t know why I was telling that story, really.” He takes a nervous sip of wine and tries to read the clouded over expression on Harry’s face.

“Everything alright with you?” He asks tentatively.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Zayn stares from his wine glass to Harry’s frame, long and lean, but undoubtedly tense.

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” Harry says and then immediately shakes his head. He tucks a stray hair behind his ear and stares at the ground. Zayn watches as his chest rises and falls and remembers the way Harry’s heartbeat feels beneath his fingertips.

“If you didn’t get the job, that’s fine,” Zayn tells him. “It doesn’t change how brilliant I think you are.”

“It’s not the job, Zayn. I should have told you this the first night we met.”

“You’re not secretly married, are you?”

“Can you stop guessing?” Harry asks.

Zayn holds his breath and waits.

“I have a daughter.”

“What?” Zayn says, air rushing through his nostrils. “You’re having me on.” Except—

Harry’s steadfastly staring at his socked feet and his fingers are pinching his elbows.

“Harry,” Zayn says because he has to see the look in his eyes to know whether he’s telling the truth.

“I-”

“How could you not tell me?”

“There wasn’t-”

“Don’t say there wasn’t a good time,” Zayn interrupts. His head is spinning and he feels ill with the thought that Harry’s been hiding a massive secret from him for months. Unless, “Is she… okay?”

“Jesus, Jesus, no, she’s fine,” Harry says as he lets out a breath. “She’s actually the healthiest little girl you’ll ever meet.”

“Then why haven’t you told me?” Zayn asks. He reaches for his wine glass and finishes it.

“I don’t—I didn’t-” Harry shakes his head and tilts his chin towards the ceiling. His breathing is ragged and Zayn wants to comfort him, but there are too many questions that make him dizzy. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“Well you did a great job of being honest,” Zayn tells him, not unkindly.

“I didn’t not tell you on purpose,” Harry explains. He reaches for his own glass of wine and takes a generous gulp. “It just… it never came up.”

“You did a good job of making sure it didn’t.”

Harry glares at him. Zayn thinks of the serene smile he had been greeted with at the door, the indulgent kiss, the way Harry had dragged him to the kitchen without showing him the house first.

“Can you not like, attack me for this,” Harry says. He runs a hand through his hair and huffs. He uncrosses his ankles and stands up straighter.

“At first we were just having fun, right,” Harry starts. “Obviously I thought you were gorgeous and funny and we had fun that night and then we just… kept having fun. And I didn’t realize until Louis asked what you thought about me having a kid and it struck me that like, you didn’t know, right? And it’s not that I’m ashamed of her, because I’m not at all, but we were spending all our time at your flat and every time I tried to bring it up, something else came up… I don’t want to lose you and I got so scared thinking about it, that I-” Harry breathes in a ragged breath. “I don’t want to lose you, but my daughter is the most important thing in my life and I can’t-”

Harry cuts himself off when Zayn scrapes his chair back. His eyes widen and for a moment he looks like he’s going to say more, but before he can, Zayn’s wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Zayn.”

Zayn shushes him, hurt and anger dissipating into sympathy. He remembers being scared of coming out to his family and keeping his first boyfriend a secret. The level of secrecy and intensity of guilt always weighed on him whenever he would call home. Even though the situation isn’t exactly the same, Zayn can imagine how much this has been weighing on Harry.

“Shh,” Zayn says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. He strokes down Harry’s spine and waits for his breathing to even out.

When Harry pulls away his eyes and nose are pink. “I’m sorry,” he says before pecking Zayn on the lips.

Zayn nods, though he can’t bring himself to say that it’s alright when it clearly isn’t.

“I have like,” he licks his lips and takes a small step back, “I have some questions.”

“Of course,” Harry nods.

“Is the mum… is she…”

“Alive?” Harry fills in. “Yeah. My daughter, um, Liana, she lived with her mum while I was in America.”

“And she was okay with you leaving?”

“She encouraged it. We get along quite well, actually. She’d bring Liana to America to spend time with me. She has a new husband and she’s expecting another kid which is part of the reason why I came back. So I can like, look after Liana more and take some of the strain off of them.”

Zayn smiles because of course Harry would get along with his ex and of course he would want to still help her.

“And so like, with my new job and because she’s starting primary next week I might be a bit busier than normal and I just—I didn’t want to keep that from you anymore,” Harry says.

Zayn tries to do the mental math. If she’s starting primary that means Harry couldn’t have been any older than nineteen when she was born. When Zayn was nineteen he was sneaking blowjobs in gay bars and smoking so much weed he hardly remembers which courses he took.

Harry’s eyes are still a bit wild and his face is unusually pale. He grips Zayn’s hand in his own and whispers “Are you going to break up with me?”

“What,” Zayn shakes out of his thoughts and grips Harry’s hand back. It’s clammy and warm and although Zayn would usually tease him, he doesn’t this time. “Harry, of course—no.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” he says, with wide eyes. He looks vulnerable and young and Christ, he has a child.

“It’s alright,” Zayn says and it feels like the truth. “I’d like to meet her—not right away, but… I want to meet her, when you think the time is right.”

Harry’s eyes water. A tear actually leaks from his left eye and meets Zayn’s finger on his cheekbone. Zayn wipes it away and kisses the spot.

“She’s amazing,” Harry admits. “She’s so brilliant.”

“If she’s related to you, she has to be.”

That sends Harry over the edge again. He tears up and gets snot all over Zayn’s shirt when he buries his face into Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn can’t say he minds.

 

As it turns out, Liana Moon Styles is smart and sassy and has wild curls just like her father used to.

She’s five and can read at the same level as a year three.

For her fifth birthday, Harry bought her a maths workbook where she excelled at addition, but struggled with subtractions.

She cried when she lost her first tooth.

Her favourite colour is anything sparkly and she likes to wear brown trousers with striped shirts.

She was born on May 2nd in Hertfordshire three weeks premature and had to be put in an incubator for six days.

For breakfast she likes eating porridge with cinnamon and honey and she’s allergic to blueberries, but not strawberries.

She sings loudly and takes Kung Fu classes and when she grows up she wants to be a scientist or Beyoncé.

Her accent is a mixture between American and British depending on what words she says and who she’s talking to.

Harry tells Zayn all of this and more. And although Zayn feels like he knows Liana, he’s not quite ready to meet her.

Which is fine, Harry assures him. He’s not sure if he’s ready for them to meet either.

So they keep going on dates and Zayn comes to Harry’s flat when Liana’s with her mum. Zayn and him cook together and fuck in Harry’s bed and in the shower and in one moment of weakness, on the kitchen table. Zayn takes Harry for falafels and Harry treats Zayn to some of the best sushi and they kiss and caress and reveal snippets of their pasts with every lingering touch and covert smile.

Harry seems more relaxed whenever they’re together. He doesn’t leave the room if Liana calls to say goodnight and he shows Zayn pictures of her doing mundane things.

She’s truly beautiful, Zayn decides. She has a lopsided smile and a scar above her left eyebrow where she fell off her bike in Los Angeles. She twirls and smiles and her laugh is so infectious that Zayn finds himself grinning whenever Harry shows him a video.

 

Harry grabs Zayn by the back of the neck and kisses him so hard, Zayn’s teeth vibrate.

“Jesus,” Zayn gasps when Harry surfaces for air. His lips are spit-slick and his cheeks red. “What was that for?” Zayn asks.

“I told her,” Harry says triumphantly. He hands Zayn a six pack of ginger beer and grins.

“Told who?”

“Lia.” Harry kisses Zayn’s cheek as he passes him. “She took it so well, she’s so smart.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry toes out of his boots and lines them besides Zayn’s wellies. “I sat her down and explained everything and she smiled so big.”

“That’s great,” Zayn says, following Harry into his own kitchen.

“I still don’t know if I’m ready for you two to like, meet yet, but I’m getting there.” Harry grabs the bottle opener off the refrigerator and hands it to Zayn. “Winnie says she trusts my judgment, too.”

Zayn tugs Harry in for a kiss this time. “You have great judgement. Great taste, too.”

Harry slaps his arse and then squeezes a handful. Zayn shivers. He positively loves how big Harry’s hands are. Harry’s other hand trails down Zayn’s back until he’s got both hands full of Zayn’s small arse. He kisses Zayn again, licking into his mouth for a small taste.

“Are you getting hard?” Harry asks against Zayn’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, turning his head so Harry can nose down his neck.

Harry snorts, kissing under the collar of Zayn’s loose shirt for a moment.

“Like you’re any better.” Zayn covers his moan with a huff. His skin’s on fire, blushing far down his neck. “I could probably see your hard-on from space.”

“Probably,” Harry agrees. He backs Zayn into the counter and grinds against him. “You gonna do something about it?”

“M’might.” Zayn really does moan this time when Harry’s hand sneaks its way down the back of Zayn’s jeans. “Alright, let’s go.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as Harry pumps his fist in the air. His victory cheer is definitely not endearing.

 

It’s the sunniest day of September when Zayn gets a heartbreaking phone call from Harry.

“Babe, I need you to breathe,” Zayn instructs, feeling slightly hysterical just from Harry’s rapid breathing. “Inhale with me, come on.”

Harry inhales shakily and exhales loudly through his nose.

“Good job, babe. Two more.” Zayn plants his feet on the ground while they breathe in time. He doesn’t feel any calmer actually— he doubts he will with Harry panting down the line.

He waits a couple more moments until the worry seems all-consuming.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“It was Liana’s first day of school and she was— _fuck_ Zayn, she’s so old. I just feel like—I’m so worried.”

Zayn strides across the room and locks his office door. “What are you worried about?”

“God, so many things,” Harry sniffs. “Like what if she hates it and is miserable? What if no one likes her and someone makes fun of her because we let her pick out her outfit? _I_ think she’s smart, but what if she can’t read as fast as the other children or if someone steals her markers? I’m just,” Harry sniffs again and Zayn can tell he’s probably crying again. “What if I’ve failed her?”

“Harry, don’t say that. You’re brilliant, there’s no way you’ve failed her.” Zayn stares at the clock and Christ he’s only been at work for an hour, but he’s already prepared to call out sick.

“You don’t know that,” Harry argues. “Winnie packed her a snack and a scarf in case it gets cold during playtime and I just stood in the kitchen like an _idiot_ while Liana ate her waffles.”

“Waffles are an important start to any day.”

Harry makes a pathetic whimpering sound. “I didn’t even make them!” he wails.

“Oh, Harry,” Zayn sighs.

“Can you come over?” Harry asks and yeah, Zayn’s already grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “You don’t—like, if you’re busy don’t worry about it. Actually, come over after work. I’ll make you dinner, we can like-”

“Harry, I’m already on my way.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry says immediately. “You have work. I-”

“It’s nothing Josh and Sophia can’t handle,” Zayn reassures him. He doesn’t mention how Bronwyn would be all too happy to hear that he’s skiving off work.

“Thank you,” Harry sniffles.

Of course, luck would have it that Zayn runs into James as he’s waiting for the lift.

“Smoke break already?” James teases.

“I’m actually headed home,” Zayn says, heartrate jumping.

“Oh?” James frowns. “Are you coming back?”

Zayn shakes his head, pleading that the lift speeds up. “I have to take a sick day.”

“We’ve got a meeting scheduled for noon, though.” James reminds him. He sounds upset, but nowhere near as distraught as Harry had sounded mere minutes ago. “It’s the van der Watt advertisement, big opportunity. They’re coming in from Sweden and everything.”

“Bronwyn can head it,” Zayn offers through gritted teeth. “Josh and Sophia know what to do.”

“She’s got the day off,” James informs him. “She’s had it off for weeks; it’s in the Google calendar.”

The lift dings and Zayn steps aside as the mail courier steps out. “Listen James,” Zayn says, stepping into the lift and praying that James isn’t considering a demotion. “I’m truly sorry, but I’ve got a family emergency.”

With that, he stabs the button for the main floor and looks away.

 

Harry’s in oversized grey joggers and an old Calvin Klein sweatshirt when he opens the door. His eyes are red and watery and his nose is pink. His lips are downturned and he looks so tired and sad and young that Zayn’s heart breaks.

“I hope you didn’t drop Liana off in that,” Zayn jokes.

By the way Harry’s face spasms he assumes it misses the mark.

“Sorry,” Zayn says. He wraps Harry up in his arms and lets him sniffle against his neck.

“Thanks for coming,” Harry mumbles.

“Of course. I would have come here sooner if you had told me.”

“S’okay.”

Zayn runs his fingers through the thick hair at the back of Harry’s head. “How long have you been alone for?”

“Not long. Winnie and I had coffee after,” Harry tells him. His lips brush against Zayn’s skin with every word.

“How did she seem?” Zayn asks.

“Fine,” Harry huffs. “Well, she cried this morning, but she’s pregnant so she’s a bit more emotional than usual.”

“Naturally,” Zayn agrees. He doesn’t have much experience with pregnant women. He can’t really remember when his mum was pregnant with his younger sisters, but he does think of how Bronwyn’s mood swings have gotten consistently worse. God, just last week she had left a passive aggressive note about throwing out the used coffee filters as if it was the world’s largest inconvenience.

“She has her husband, though so she’ll be fine.” Zayn swallows and squeezes Harry tighter. “And now I’ve got you,” Harry murmurs, smiling shyly.

“At your service,” Zayn grins.

Harry tugs on Zayn’s tan leather belt. He’s wearing his fancy grey slacks and a navy blue button-up tucked in. “Wanna wear my pajamas and watch a movie with me?”

Zayn kisses Harry’s forehead and loosens his hold.

“I’ll make the tea.”

 

Zayn wakes up with his head in Harry’s lap and _Batman Begins_ playing quietly on the television. Harry’s hand is resting on Zayn’s shoulder and his feet are resting on the coffee table. His grey socks are baggy around his toes, something Zayn knows he hates.

“Hey sleepy,” Harry coos, trailing a finger along Zayn’s jawline.

Zayn lifts his head, feeling the saliva dried on his cheek. “Ugh,” he says, wiping it off, “sorry.”

“It’s cute,” Harry says, but when Zayn sits up he sees a little wet patch and Harry’s dick outlined beneath his sweatpants.

“Nice,” Zayn snorts.

“I couldn’t help it,” Harry shrugs. He shoves his hand into his pants and adjusts himself. “You kept wiggling around and shit.”

“I was asleep,” Zayn says flatly.

“I couldn’t move.” Harry rolls his eyes and leans forward to adjust his socks. “You want lunch?”

Zayn lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. Now that he’s in such close proximity to Harry’s dick, it would be easy to suck him off. The angle wouldn’t be too bad either. One look at Harry’s face signifies that he’s thinking the same as Zayn.

Confidently, Zayn shimmies closer to Harry’s legs and reaches into his sweatpants. Harry’s dick hardens as Zayn jerks him slowly, feeling the weight in his hands. Harry spreads his legs and bends them at the knee, lifting his hips so Zayn can get better access.

“Pull your pants down,” Zayn tells him and when Harry does, his dick is hard and red and looks so good in Zayn’s hand his mouth waters.

Zayn tugs him off, revelling in the way Harry’s hips twitch. His breathing has deepened dramatically and there’s a bright flush on his cheeks. When their eyes meet, Harry averts his eyes and bites his lips.

“Aw,” Zayn teases, swiping his thumb over Harry’s slit. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m gonna come, like,” Harry closes his eyes when Zayn kisses the tip of his dick, “embarrassingly quick.”

“That’s kinda the point, babe.” With that, Zayn takes him into his mouth. He goes slowly, bobbing his head and making sure to press his tongue flat against Harry’s shaft.

Harry rests his hand on the back of Zayn’s neck, but doesn’t push him down. He moans above him, scratching blunt nails into Zayn’s skin. He twitches again, untamed. Zayn closes his eyes and focuses on loosening his jaw, breathing through his nose. Harry always smells so good, whether he’s spritzed on cologne or drenched in sweat after finishing one of his stupid yogalate DVDs. Now, he smells like soap and a bit of sweat.

“Babe,” Harry gasps, lifting his hips. “M’gonna come.”

Zayn pulls off and noses at the bottom of Harry’s shirt. He noses up Harry’s happy trail and sucks the soft skin into his mouth. Zayn swipes his thumb over the head of Harry’s dick, gathering the precome and spreading it down his shaft. He takes Harry back into his mouth and sucks nosily.

There’s yelling and a crash from the television, but Zayn’s sure that he’s paying about as much attention as Harry is.

“Zayn,” Harry groans, digging his thumb into the side of Zayn’s neck more insistently.

In response, Zayn gently runs the end of his nail along Harry’s dick. Like the flick of a switch, Harry instantly comes.

Zayn swallows as much as he can, but at this angle, he ends up sputtering and choking. It’s unattractive, though Zayn can’t find it in him to care. Sex with Harry is always uninhibited whether Harry’s crying while getting fucked or bent over the kitchen counter asking Zayn to spank him.

Zayn has barely had time to wipe his mouth when Harry leans down and kisses him. He licks the taste of come out of Zayn’s mouth and feels down Zayn’s back until he’s got a handful of his arse. He keeps it PG with some groping and heavy kissing, but other than that Harry makes no move to do more. Zayn’s hard in Harry’s pajamas, dick rutting into the sofa.

“Stop teasing,” Zayn groans, wedging his hand between the sofa and his pants. It takes a bit of wiggling and detaching of the lips until he can wrap a hand around himself.

Harry ignores him as always. He brushes his thumb over Zayn’s cheekbone until their foreheads are touching and then pops his finger into his mouth and sucks. Zayn glowers, waiting for Harry to fucking _do something_ already.

“Hurry up or I’ll get myself off.”

“Seems like you’re almost there,” Harry, the bastard, grins. He shoves his hand down the back of Zayn’s trousers before he can say anything else and prods at his bum until he can drag his finger between Zayn’s cheeks.

Zayn shivers and clenches around nothing, already anticipating what he knows won’t come.

“Are you gonna fuck me or tease me?”

“Gonna do both,” Harry says. Smug is an infuriatingly attractive look on him.

Which is why Zayn gets to his knees and straddles Harry. It takes fifteen minutes for Harry to find the lube and condom buried under the middle sofa cushion, finger Zayn open, and have him grinding on his dick, a hot and sweaty mess. They’ve both got their shirts on and their pants tugged down to their knees. Zayn can’t move very well so Harry’s got his hands on his hips to make sure their rhythm is in sync.

“M’gonna come again,” Harry says over a moan. He bites into Zayn’s neck and sucks, moaning when Zayn digs his nails into his scalp.

“Don’t come before I do.”

And it’s not meant to be a challenge, but Zayn’s voice comes out raw and demanding.

“Zayn,” Harry groans and for a moment, Zayn thinks he’s about to. Then his eyes snap to meet Zayn’s and his lips are puffy and his eyes are glazed and the blush is so pretty and high on his cheeks that Zayn wants to take a picture and frame it.

God, Harry always looks so utterly debauched whenever he’s overwhelmed like this and it just—Zayn’s helpless to do anything other than stare. Zayn grabs onto the back of the sofa and grinds down on Harry, eliciting a moan from his wet lips. Harry tilts his head to the side, mouths at Zayn’s wrist.

Harry looks about two seconds away from coming as he sinks his teeth into Zayn’s skin.

“Fuck me,” Zayn goads. “Come on, I know you can do better.”

Harry glowers, although he does what Zayn says. Harry wraps a fist around Zayn’s dick and jerks him in time with his thrusts.

Although Zayn always mocks Harry for his living room yoga and 10 kilometer runs, he almost takes it all back when Harry flips Zayn so he’s flat on his back. How Zayn’s skull doesn’t smash on the armrest, he’ll never know, but he doesn’t have to maul it over before Harry snaps his hips again.

Harry attaches his lips to Zayn’s neck and sucks. It’s noisy and showy, and Zayn finds he can’t do anything other than bury his hands in Harry’s hair and yank.

“Fuck,” Zayn moans, feeling the heat in his belly coil like a spring.

His toes curl and he’s ridiculously hot and a little too sweaty, but none of that seems to matter when Harry licks up Zayn’s neck and whispers, “Love the way you feel, baby.”

“Fuck,” Zayn curses, coming between their stomachs on both of their shirts.

Harry groans into Zayn’s ear and comes right after him, spilling into the condom and shuddering.

It’s a few minutes of heavy breathing and light touches until Zayn feels in control enough to move. His knees are sore and his arse aches. Harry’s smirking at him.

“What?” Zayn asks, skeptical.

“Didn’t know calling you baby got you off so quick,” Harry grins. “Would’ve said it ages ago to get that reaction out of you.”

“Shut up,” Zayn glares.

Harry giggles—fucking _giggles_ —and leans in for a kiss.

Zayn turns his cheek and Harry’s kiss lands sloppily near his ear.

“I’m just kidding,” Harry whines. “Besides,” Harry pokes his fingers into Zayn’s side, “I like calling you baby.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, but allows Harry to kiss him.

“I like you,” Harry confesses. He presses his lips to Zayn’s temple and whispers, “Like really like you, Zayn.”

“Feeling’s sort of mutual,” Zayn confesses.

 

When Zayn walks into the van der Watt debriefing, Niall whistles.

“Shut up,” Zayn hisses. He takes his seat beside him and avoids his eyes.

“What animal mauled you?” Josh says with wonder. He leans in to get a better look at Zayn’s neck and Zayn feels himself flush.

“It’s not that bad,” Zayn hisses.

And it’s _not_ , Zayn’s sure. He had been careful to button his shirt up all the way to his neck and there’s only a peek of a love bite showing. Or there was until Zayn got too hot in his office and had to unbutton his shirt.

“Sorry love, you could see that thing from space.” At least Sophia has the decency to look sympathetic as she delivers the news.

“You’re no longer my favourite designer,” he tells her.

“Am I first then?” Josh cuts in. “Get in.”

Zayn glances around the boardroom and catches the tail end of Bronwyn’s eye roll.

“Jesus,” Niall whistles.

“Can we focus,” Bronwyn snips.

Zayn sighs and straightens up in his seat. Bronwyn’s always more pleasant when James is in the room and seeing as he felt like punishing everyone for skipping work yesterday, he’s decided to sit out of the meeting and let Niall and Josh lead it.

 

“I’m gonna kill her,” Zayn moans running his hands down his face.

“You’re so dramatic,” Niall says. Or at least Zayn _thinks_ that’s what Niall says since his mouth is stuffed with chips. “She’s not that bad.”

“She’s terrible,” Zayn says. “She hardly took any notes and she had the balls to stare at mine across the table.”

“Don’t know if she really has balls,” Niall says. “What with her being pregnant and all.”

“That poor kid.” Zayn dunks a chunk of fish into his tartar sauce and chews angrily. “She’d probably never let them have any fun.”

“Zayn,” Niall frowns. “Don’t say that.” He steals a chip from Zayn’s basket and shoves it in his mouth. “Besides, she already has a kid.”

“What?” Tartar sauce drips down Zayn’s chin and plops onto the paper lining.

“Yeah, I think it’s a boy? She doesn’t have any pictures around her desk, but like, I’m pretty sure she’s got like a six-year-old son.”

“What’s his name?”

“Lionel? Liam? Something like that.” Niall shrugs and licks his lips. "Actually now that I think about it, it's something weirder, maybe?"

“That poor kid,” Zayn repeats, shaking his head.

 

If Zayn had a cord attached to his cell phone, he would be twirling it right now.

“I’m going fucking crazy,” Zayn complains.

It’s the second week of the van der Watt project and Bronwyn has been more controlling than usual. James decided that the company needed to incorporate more teamwork so he assigned them tasks that ensured they would be in constant communication and close quarters. Niall uses it as an excuse to sit in Zayn’s office and gossip about Netflix and Isla and the crazy squirrel he keeps seeing at the golf course. Bronwyn uses it as an excuse to micro-manage every situation. And Zayn uses it as an excuse to call Harry every night and whine.

“You need a break,” Harry says, but he sounds a bit distracted.

“I do,” Zayn agrees. “What are you doing tomorrow? We could spend the weekend together… We could make that cauliflower curry you mentioned.”

“I would, but I’m picking Lia up from school. I’ve got her all weekend.”

“Oh,” Zayn says and it comes out a lot more disappointed than he had intended. “I’ll see you Monday night though, right?”

“I’m working with an artist next week. He’s got promo during the day so we’re writing at night,” Harry explains.

“Oh,” Zayn repeats. “All week?”

“Mostly, I think. He has a performance on the Graham Norton show on Wednesday afternoon, but it might run into the night.”

Zayn bites his lip and nestles further into the pillows.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that though,” Harry says. “I figured, because I won’t be seeing you for the week, it might be a good time for you to meet Lia?”

Zayn jerks upright. He’s wide awake now.

“This weekend?” He clarifies.

“If you want,” Harry says. “We go to the park every morning when she stays with me so I was thinking you could join us?”

Zayn nods before he realizes that they’re on the phone. “I—yeah. Yes. I would-” he rubs his eye and sighs. “I’m really nervous.”

Harry barks a laugh that echoes in Zayn’s ear. His heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Babe you’ll be fine. I’ve shown her pictures of you and she knows all about you.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, curious. “What’d you tell her?”

“That you’re daddy’s friend and you’re very handsome and smart and that I like you very much.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Zayn bites his lip and nods again, feeling anxious and excited all at once. “Then I’d love to.”

 

Zayn’s third outfit change involves a black short sleeved shirt with a yellow smiley face and a pair of black jeans. He’s in the middle of tying his boots when another wave of nervousness rolls over him. He dashes to his room, undoubtedly tracking mud throughout his flat, and when he pulls Harry’s grey jumper over his head, he feels much more approachable.

The wind nips at his neck as he walks the short distance from the bus stop to the park. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he hasn’t smoked in two days in preparation for the meeting. He didn’t want to smell like nicotine for the first time he meets Liana, although quitting only made him crave one more.

Zayn digs his phone out of his pocket and checks his messages. He’s got one from Niall about an end of summer barbecue and another from Harry saying that they’re on the roundabouts.

In a single glance, Zayn spots them. It’s as if he’s incapable of seeing anything other than Harry.

He catches Harry’s eye from across the park and waves, ignoring the wet grass squishing beneath his boots. Liana’s in her own world on the roundabout, spinning around from Harry’s pushes.

“Hi,” Harry calls when Zayn gets close enough.

“Hey,” Zayn smiles. “Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head. “Nice sweater.”

Zayn’s face warms and he averts his eyes. The roundabout has stopped now and Liana’s staring up at him with big, owlish eyes. She’s even cuter than she is in photographs. Her face is round and her cheeks are rosy; her eyes are the same shade as Harry’s and her hair is in two tight plaits.

“Lia,” Harry says, gaining her attention. He bends down so he’s at her eye level. “Remember how daddy said his friend was going to play at the park with us?” Liana bites her bottom lip and nods. “Well this is daddy’s friend, Zayn.” He gestures to Zayn and Zayn lifts his hand in a wave.

Liana’s face instantly crumples and she launches herself into her dad’s arms and buries her face in his neck.

“Lia,” Harry chastises. He frowns apologetically at his boyfriend. He strokes down her spine and kisses the side of her head. Leaning back, he tries to pry her off of him, but she won’t budge. “Liana Moon, where are your manners?”

She pulls back to glare at him. “Where’s Uncle Lou?”

Harry brushes loose hair from Liana’s forehead and leaves his hand on her cheek.

“He’s at home, remember? So I invited Zayn to play with us, today.”

Liana grumbles something Zayn can’t hear. She’s whining under into her father’s neck as she clings to him. Embarrassment floods his system at Liana’s adamant dislike.

“It’s fine, Harry.”

“It most definitely is not,” Harry says. He stands up and takes Liana with him. She wraps her legs around his waist and keeps her face out of Zayn’s gaze, buried behind his ear. “Liana, you’re being very rude right now. It’s not very princess-ly.” Harry winks at Zayn as if they’re magical words.

They aren’t.

Liana fidgets in her dad’s hold, scrunching up the fabric of his brown coat in her small fist. Harry’s face falls and he leans away from Liana until he can give her a firm look.

“If you’re going to have this attitude all day, I’m not afraid to take you home, right now. We won’t have any broccoli for supper and I can cancel your playdate with Robbie tomorrow.”

Zayn’s embarrassed at the lengths Harry is going to. As kind as it is that Harry’s willing to be so firm with his daughter, the last thing he wants is for Liana to begrudgingly say hello to him and then resent him for the rest of her life.

“Now,” Harry says, with a knuckle under her chin so his daughter has no choice but to look at him, “what do you say to our new friend?”

“Hello,” she says, looking at the ground.

“Hi,” Zayn answers, cringing at Harry.

Once Harry manages to detach his daughter from his upper body, Liana catapults herself towards the playground. She goes down the slide and climbs the ladders and slides down the pole all on her own. She clambers up the zig-zagged climbing blocks and ignores Harry and Zayn’s existence despite the fact that they’re quietly shadowing her.

“I really am sorry,” Harry apologizes for the forty-fifth time.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Harry frowns and wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist. He rubs his cold nose against Zayn’s ear and sighs.

“I swear she was excited when I showed her your pictures.”

Zayn laughs and threads his fingers with Harry’s. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not,” Harry says, and Zayn can hear the pout in his voice without even looking. “She said she liked your arm colouring.”

“Actually?”

“Mhmm.” Harry puckers his lips for a kiss and Zayn grants him a quick peck. He wants to make sure that he remains alert and innocent in case Liana looks over. He has a grape lolly in his back pocket that he was going to use as a bartering chip, but as soon as Liana’s feet are back on the woodchip ground, she takes off.

“I put your sweater on ‘cause I thought my tattoos might scare her.”

“Nope,” Harry grins. “She likes drawing on my arms because she thinks they’re pretty.”

“Even the mermaid?”

“Especially the mermaid,” Harry laughs. “She likes drawing seashells and dresses on her if we’re going out because Winnie and I made that a rule for Lia when she was younger.”

“What, did she just run out in the street without a top on?”

“All the time,” Harry rolls his eyes.

Zayn snorts and shakes his head. “I wonder where she learned that one from.”

Harry elbows him in the side, his shoulders shaking in laughter.

Their attention fizzles back to Liana. She’s waiting in line to go down the swirly slide. She looks adorable in her grey tights and puffy yellow jacket. Her brown wellies are muddy up to her ankles and there’s dirt smudged on her knees.

“Want to go on the swings after this?” Harry asks.

“Sure?”

“Lia,” Harry calls. He waves when Liana looks over. “Want to go on the swings after?”

Liana nods her head vigorously; her smile lights up her entire face and Zayn feels an ache in his chest. He wants her approval so badly it’s sickening. Realistically, he knows he shouldn’t need it. He knows that Liana’s most likely nervous to meet her dad’s boyfriend for the first time, but it still _hurts_.

So when she runs over to them and crashes herself into her dad’s legs without sparing a breath in Zayn’s direction, it stings.

Harry swings Liana’s hand as they walk to the swing set. There are no other families occupying it and Zayn thanks God that no one’s going to see him be ignored by a five-year-old.

“Do you want Zayn to push you, Lia?” Harry asks. “He’s really strong. He could push you _so high_ that you could kick the sun!”

“No thanks,” Liana says, lifting her arms for Harry to pick her up.

“Are you sure?” Harry hoists her into his arms and walks to the swing set. Liana buries her head in Harry’s neck and he sighs, mouthing _I’m sorry_.

Zayn manages a tight lipped smile. He shouldn’t have come.

After some swinging and Harry taking pictures of her on a bumblebee springer, Liana’s energy starts to fizzle. She insists on more sliding and climbing, but after they’ve been there for an hour, she’s sluggish and quiet. Her laughter no longer bounces around the playground and she stops making faces when Harry crosses his eyes at her.

On the walk back to Harry’s flat, Liana sleeps on his shoulder. Harry takes her to her room and Zayn puts the kettle on while he waits.

“Alright?” Harry asks, shoving his hands up Zayn’s shirt and hooking his chin on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Yeah, bit tired,” Zayn says. He feels exhausted despite the lack of actual playing he did. He managed some half-ass swinging beside Liana and followed Harry around the playground like an idiot.

“We can take a nap in my bed?” Harry suggests. “Get you into something more comfy.”

Zayn pours a generous amount of milk into his tea and sighs.

“I think I’m gonna head home after a cuppa.”

Harry twirls Zayn around and presses him against the cupboard. His fingers squeeze into Zayn’s hips as he searches his face.

“You don’t want to stay for lunch?”

“I don’t think Lia wants me to.” Harry’s face crumples instantly, an apology already forming on his lips. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Zayn tangles his fingers with Harry’s.

“I really didn’t mean it like that. I’m not mad or anything like, I get that I’m a stranger and she might be feeling threatened.”

“I just don’t get it,” Harry says. “She was so excited. She was talking about it at breakfast and she made me show her your picture again.”

“She could just be scared.” Zayn looks at his socked feet. “I knew I shouldn’t have worn all black.”

“You look sexy in all black.” Harry sneaks his hands up Zayn’s shirt again. His hands are cold against Zayn’s stomach and it makes him shiver. Harry’s got a smirk on his face that spells nothing but seduction. “Plus, you’re wearing my sweater so technically you’re in black and grey.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and bats Harry’s hands away.

“Stop trying to seduce me while your daughter’s sleeping. I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Make a good impression on me,” Harry murmurs, inching forward. “I’m very hard to please.”

“You’re something alright.”

Still, Zayn let’s Harry get him out of his sweater.

“Wanna play some music and cuddle on the sofa.”

Zayn huffs and let’s Harry kiss him. “I suppose, that’d be alright.”

 

Zayn wakes up to a finger poking his nostril.

He blinks awake, but the green eyes he’s staring into aren’t Harry’s.

“You snore like Daddy,” Liana tells him. “And you have colouring on your arm.”

Zayn glances down to where she’s pointing to the _ZAP!_ inked into his skin.

When he looks back up, Liana’s still staring at him critically. He can hear Harry banging around in the kitchen and feels like he’s in uncharted territory.

“Do you want to… colour more on this arm?” He asks, raising his left arm. There are still blank spaces that she can use.

“Really?” Liana asks with wondrous eyes.

“If you want,” Zayn says. “I think it would be sick.”

“Sick,” Liana repeats, like she’s feeling the way the word feels in her mouth. “Sick,” she says, this time she’s smiling.

 

When Harry calls them for lunch, Zayn’s sitting on the ground with Liana colouring on his arm. She’s using three different colours to draw castles and stars and a couple quarter moons that look more like worms, but she assured him that it’s the washable non-toxic markers that her daddy bought her for her birthday.

Harry gasps, exaggeratedly. He fans his arms to put his hands on his hips and his mouth is wide in faux shock.

“Well what in the world is going on here?”

Liana covers her mouth with her hands and gets a smear of purple on her cheek.

“Lia’s giving me new tattoos.” Zayn proudly shows off his arm.

“It’s sick, daddy!”

Harry snorts and licks his thumb. He erases the smear from her cheeks before hoisting her into his arms. “Do I want to know where you learned that word?”

“It was Zee!” She squeals. She wiggles until Harry lets her down and then she takes off towards the kitchen.

“It washes off,” Harry says, nodding at Zayn’s arm.

“Nah, think I might go to the shop and get it inked.” He stands and twists his arm so Harry can inspect it. There’s an indecipherable squiggle that looks like a wonky fish.

“Oh God, she’d love that too much. She keeps asking me if I’m going to keep her art, but I always tell her that the only art that stays is the stuff on paper.”

“She could always paint in my art room,” Zayn shrugs. His eyes meet Harry’s at the same time and although Harry doesn’t look particularly alarmed, Zayn’s mouth dries and he feels all the blood rush to his cheeks. “Not that like, not that I’m saying, like I wasn’t implying-”

Harry cuts off Zayn’s stuttering with a kiss to his cheek.

“You look like you’re dying,” Harry teases. He tangles his fingers with Zayn. “I think that’s sweet. Maybe when she’s warmed up to you a bit more, we can suggest that to her.”

Zayn still feels like he’s swallowed his tongue. “Sure, of course.”

Harry just laughs and leads him to the kitchen.

 

September flies by, with Niall’s out of control birthday celebrations that left Zayn wondering how he manages to keep up with his friend. Harry had come and charmed the pants off everyone around them, Niall’s cousins and some of his other friends came from Ireland and it seemed like the entire bar was buying them all drinks. But before Zayn knows it, it’s October, and the Halloween staff party is approaching

Zayn’s currently scooping out pumpkin guts while Niall kneels on the kitchen counter and hangs black and orange streamers from the ceiling. They’re blasting _Thriller_ while their co-workers are busy working on their actual job.

“I don’t understand why we have to do this now,” Zayn whines. He has a headache from the repetitive melody and Niall’s energy is exhausting. “Halloween’s a week away.”

“Bro, that is not enough time to plan a proper Halloween,” Niall says, shaking his head. He twirls the streamers while he walks to the other side of the room. He scrapes a chair to the corner and stands on it. “Do you even have a costume?”

“No.” Zayn rifles through the pumpkin innards to collect the seeds.

“But you’re coming to my party, right?”

“If Harry wants to.”

“Dude,” Niall whines. “How have you not asked him yet?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

Zayn looks up at Niall’s prolonged silence. Niall’s glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Ask him,” Niall says, sternly. “Isla and I are gonna throw another sick party. Remember last years?”

Zayn doesn’t, actually. He had had about three licorice jelly shots too many. There were body shots and he remembers snogging one of Isla’s cousins on the sofa, but the smaller details of the night are lost. The morning though, the morning Zayn remembers. He woke up foggy and dry-mouthed on the kitchen floor covered in a blanket with a mound of pillows surrounding him. Niall had stumbled in starkers and the shriek he let out when he saw Zayn on the floor was ear-shattering.

“I’m not waking up to your dick in my face again,” Zayn tells him.

Niall snorts. “You’ll wake up to a dick in your face, but it won’t be mine.”

“Jesus,” Bronwyn admonishes from the doorway. “Do you boys do any actual work around here?”

Zayn’s head whips around and he turns even more crimson than ever. She’s been breaking their dress code to wear Halloween-themed tops and dresses. Although the clothes are unprofessional and strictly against the rules, everyone fawns over them—including their clients. Today, she’s wearing a grey top with a white floating girl. It says _Mummy’s Little Ghoul_ in sparkly black letters.

“I just came in to check how you were doing,” Bronwyn says, folding her arms over her bump. “We’re moving the office party from Friday to Thursday so everyone can have an early weekend.”

“Did James approve of that?” Zayn asks. The last time he asked for a half day, James laughed him out of his office.

“He suggested it,” she smiles. Bronwyn eyes the two small pumpkins that Zayn’s already carved. “Are you going to make all of the pumpkins Jack-o-lanterns?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Oh.” Zayn’s certain that her eye twitches. “Well, I suppose that’ll do.” With that, she turns on her heel and walks out of the staffroom, shutting the door on her way out.

“God, she’s a bitch.” Zayn groans.

“Dude she’s pregnant. All those hormones,” Niall laughs. “I’ll be fucked when Isla gets pregnant.”

Zayn stops scooping at that. “What? Are you guys trying?”

“Not like, _trying_ ,” Niall says, face red into his brunet hairline. “But sometimes we don’t use a condom and we both agreed that it wouldn’t be the _end_ of the world so like… yeah.”

“That’s exciting,” Zayn grins.

Niall shakes his head and finally tapes the streamers to the ceiling. “How about you, though? Are you enjoying playing daddy?”

“I’m not playing dad,” Zayn huffs. “I’ve only met her twice.”

“Still. That’s like, awesome that Harry trusts you with that. I’m gonna convince him to bring her to my Halloween party.”

“Niall, _no_ ,” Zayn laughs. “None of us are going to that.”

Niall glares and scrapes the chair back to the table. “We’ll see about that.”

 

“So,” Harry says after he has swallowed a yam roll, “when were you going to tell me about Niall’s party.”

Zayn groans and grabs one of the agedashi cubes in the center of the table.

“I should have known he would text you.”

“He called me actually.” Harry knocks the agedashi out of Zayn’s chopsticks. “And don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not,” Zayn says, defensively. “I told him you were probably busy anyway. I know how excited you’ve been to take Lia out for Halloween.”

“Well yeah,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “The plan was to take Lia around the neighbourhood for sweets and then drop her off at Winnie’s before we spend the night together.” He dunks an avocado roll into a generous amount of wasabi and soya sauce.

“I-”

“You didn’t think of that, did you?” Harry teases.

“Not exactly,” Zayn says slowly.

Harry hooks his foot with Zayn’s ankle under the table.

“I want to spend time with you, Zayn. And I want you to spend time with my daughter because you’re both important to me, okay?” Zayn nods. “I won’t be offended if you don’t want to spend time with the both of us-”

“That’s not-”

Harry holds his chopsticks up for Zayn to let him finish.

“Yes, we’re a package deal, but you and I,” Harry gestures between them, “we can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.”

Zayn digs his teeth into his bottom lip. “I want to go at whatever pace you want,” Zayn confesses. “I’d be down to spend Halloween with you and Lia, but I could also chill at Niall’s and wait for you.”

Harry squints. “I want you to spend Halloween with me and Lia.”

A blinding smile takes over Zayn’s face, uncontrollable and so fucking happy. “Then I guess I’m spending Halloween with you and Lia.”

 

Lia answers the door in a checkered blue dress with sequined red shoes. Her white undershirt has puffy sleeves and her brown hair is in two long plaits again. She has blusher on her cheeks and glitter in her hair.

“Hi Zee,” she says shyly.

“Hi Dorothy,” Zayn greets.

Liana giggles into her hands and let’s Zayn in.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Burning supper,” she says seriously.

“Liana!” Harry shouts from the kitchen. He sounds comically distressed and Liana giggles again. He comes out of the kitchen in khakis and a similarly coloured t-shirt. There’s a red bow in his fluffed up hair.

“Creative,” Zayn snorts.

Harry scrunches up his face and curves his fingers into claws. “I’m terrifying.”

Zayn pulls him in by his waist and kisses his cheek quickly. “The most terrifying.”

“I want to be terrifying!” Liana screams.

“Inside voice, Lia,” Harry reminds her. He strokes a hand down her hair and tugs on the end of one of her plaits. Liana growls, makes a ferocious face and pounces, barrelling into her father’s leg. Harry pretends to stumble, wind milling his arms as he cries in mock-terror.

Liana laughs so loud, clapping her hands over her mouth in delight. She looks up at Zayn with shining green eyes and when he gives her a discreet thumbs-up, she returns it.

“Alright,” Harry announces, making a show of dusting himself off. “I’m gonna add the finishing touches on supper, then we’ll eat.”

“I want sweets,” Liana says, thoughtfully.

“I’ve already made tacos, dove. Looks like you’re out of luck.”

Liana frowns at her father and looks at Zayn with a pleading pout.

“Um,” Zayn glances from Harry’s receding figure to the little girl in front of him. “Where’s your Toto?”

“Robbie’s not here, yet,” Liana says mournfully.

“Who’s Robbie, again?”

“Louis’ son!” Harry calls from the kitchen. “Babe can you help me set the table?”

The kitchen is surprisingly immaculate for the amount of food Harry has going at the moment. There are diced yams in one dish and a combination of black beans and sweet corn in another. Shredded lettuce is beside the tomatoes and Harry’s currently mashing avocados.

“I didn’t know Louis was coming tonight.”

“Is that alright?” Harry says worriedly. “Louis asked last week and it completely slipped my mind, but I called him yesterday and told them to dress up.”

Zayn shrugs despite the anxiety knotting around his chest. He hasn’t seen Louis since that night in the pub and although it was months ago, he can’t help feeling that Louis isn’t his biggest fan.

“Lou’s going to be the scarecrow and Robbie’s Toto. He looks _so_ cute, Zayn. We have to take group pictures.”

Once Louis and Robbie show up, Harry sets up the tripod and makes them take pictures until Liana starts to whine about her hunger.

Trick-or-treating isn’t as awkward as Zayn had thought. The adults mostly stand at the end of the drive while Liana and Robbie collect sweets. Louis is less guarded than he was at the pub and he teases Harry with an easy familiarity. And even though Louis doesn’t make a valiant effort to include Zayn in all of the short conversations he has with Harry, he doesn’t shoot daggers at him like he had in the pub.

Liana surprises Zayn as well. She’s been warming up to him slowly, but surely, and tonight is no different. She holds Zayn’s hand when they cross the roads or she’s too afraid to go to the door herself. He revels in the attention, grateful that she goes to him when her bag gets too heavy or the ribbon in her hair comes loose.

When they reach a particularly frightening house, Liana refuses to go to the door without Zayn.

“We’ll be right here,” Zayn soothes, as gently as he can. “Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”

“I’m scared,” Liana murmurs, glancing up at the big white house with skeletons dangling from bare tree branches and headstones scattering the front lawn. “What if someone’s hiding in the bushes?”

“No one’s hiding in the bushes,” Zayn says. “Want me to go with you?”

Liana nods and grabs his fingers. Robbie copies her and takes Zayn’s other hand. The woman who answers the door coos at them and gives them a big chocolate sweet. She tells them how brave they are for coming up to the house and offers a chocolate to Zayn, but he blushes and declines.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Zayn asks, swinging their hands.

“Nope!” With that, Liana lets go of his hand and rockets off to the next house.

Zayn joins Louis’ strides and looks around. “Where’s Harry?”

“On the other side of the street,” Louis gestures. “Winnie called.”

“Oh,” Zayn says. He tries not to worry about it, but when he fails to join them after two houses, Zayn walks to him.

“But we agreed,” Harry says lowly, angrily. “You said-” he huffs and rolls his eyes for Zayn. “Win, this was _your_ idea. I know I said that I could take her all night, but—no, no. I told you last week that we’ve got plans, now.” Harry reaches for Zayn with his left hand. Zayn doesn’t hesitate before he takes it. “We’re going to his friend’s party. No—no, there’s gonna be alcohol. You came up with the plan.” Zayn kisses the top of Harry’s hand and tries to make a sympathetic face.

“I don’t understand why Archie can’t pick her up from mine on his way home… No, Louis can’t drop her off. I’m not going to inconvenience him because it’s easier for you.” Harry holds his phone to his chest. “Sorry, babe.”

“It’s fine,” Zayn tells him. “We don’t have to go to Niall’s.”

“We’re going,” Harry says sternly. He puts the phone back to his ear. “Look Win, any other night I wouldn’t have a problem—it’s not him, I want to do this.” Something uneasy settles in Zayn’s stomach. “It’s been ages since I’ve been out with him and I want to meet his friends… alright fine. Fine, yes. I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks.”

Harry sighs and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“It seems kind of redundant to ask if everything’s alright,” Zayn says.

“Kinda,” Harry agrees. “Winnie wants to go to a Halloween party tonight, but she was the one who suggested taking Lia for the night so we could go out and now she wants to change plans.” Harry glances a few houses ahead and they start to make their way back to where Louis’ waiting on the sidewalk. “She suggested that her dad could come pick her up, but I don’t know. He lives a bit far so now he’s on his way to pick her up.”

“I bet he’ll be glad to see her.”

“He will,” Harry agrees. “Sorry for putting a damper on the night.”

“It’s no worry.” Zayn pokes at Harry’s cheek until Harry growls and bites the tip of his finger.

 

After three glasses of tequila and cranberry juice, Harry starts to get clingy.

It starts with Harry wrapping an arm around Zayn while he’s chatting with Niall’s cousin and ends with Harry sitting on his lap while he talks to Isla’s co-worker.

“You alright?” Zayn asks when Harry shifts for the fourth time in thirty seconds.

“Just trying to get comfortable,” Harry grins. He lifts his glass for Zayn to cheers and then swallows the rest of the drink. “Care to get another drink with me?”

“I thought you were trying to get comfortable,” Zayn says, amused.

Harry whines in the back of his throat, kissing Zayn’s cheek sloppily. If Zayn wasn’t so enamoured with him, he’d probably think it was a bit rude, but as it is, he squeezes Harry’s thigh until he’s standing.

“Excuse us,” Zayn says to Isla’s friend. He can’t remember her name for the life of him.

Harry quietly refills his drink. Zayn watches as Harry’s flush grows stronger, his hand shakier.

“You alright?” He asks for the second time, although now he already knows the answer.

Harry sets his cup on the counter and faces Zayn with a bitten lip.

“Wanna go see if there’s an unlocked room here?”

“Niall would kill us.” Still, he accepts Harry’s hand.

They find an unoccupied room and Harry pins Zayn to it, kissing him hard.

“Jesus.” Zayn’s head is spinning already.

Harry kisses down his jaw, sucking a mark there. He runs his hands down Zayn’s sides and squeezes.

“What’s gotten into you?” Zayn wonders.

“You were so hot tonight.”

“What?”

Harry kisses back up to Zayn’s lips, spending a dizzying amount of time to render him breathless. Harry sneaks a hand up Zayn’s shirt and presses his cold hand against Zayn’s lower belly. Zayn grabs onto Harry’s hips to ground himself. He’s warm beneath his fingertips and when Zayn digs his fingers into Harry’s skin, he jolts.

“Wanna suck you,” Harry says, sucking a love bite into Zayn’s neck.

“Fuck,” Zayn swears, closing his eyes as Harry drops to his knees. “Where is this coming from?”

“I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” Harry tells him. He tries to undo Zayn’s zipper with clumsy fingers. Eventually he just huffs and tries to start yanking them down.

“Harry,” Zayn giggles, undoing his fly and helping Harry pull down his pants with his jeans. “What the-”

Harry presses his thumbs into Zayn’s thighs as he takes him down. He’s too eager, gagging and pulling off with a wet gasp.

Zayn combs his fingers through Harry’s hair and makes him slow his pace. Harry’s mouth is tight and warm and eager. Zayn’s head thuds against the door rather loudly.

“You alright?” Harry giggles. His voice has gone all raspy and deep.

Zayn nods although Harry can’t see it. Harry takes him down again and wraps his fist around what doesn’t fit in his mouth. It’s only takes a few more minutes of Harry sucking and moaning and a stray, dry finger prodding between Zayn’s cheeks before he comes down Harry’s throat with a low groan.

Zayn watches Harry swallow. He watches the way Harry’s eyes close as he licks at the slit. Zayn’s never been a fan of sucking dick—he’s never enjoyed the breathlessness or the unexpected come—but he revels in the way Harry enjoys it. He almost wants to tell Harry to stop as he’s oversensitive and twitchy, except there’s a content crease between Harry’s eyebrows and he’s sighing happily through his nose.

He gives the head of Zayn’s dick a parting kiss before he bites Zayn’s hipbone and pulls Zayn’s pants up. He does the zip then sits back on his haunches.

“You good?” Zayn asks, stroking his thumb over Harry’s jawbone.

“Best.” Harry smiles. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, babes, you’re the one who did all the work.”

Harry takes Zayn’s hand and stands, although he curves himself into Zayn’s side.

“I’m thanking you for doing such a good job with Liana tonight.”

Zayn snorts. “She was houses ahead of me the whole night. All I did was carry her bag.”

“No,” Harry says, turning his head so he’s speaking into Zayn’s neck. “When she was scared you held her hand to the door. You complimented her outfit and made her feel safe the whole night. And when she was tired you gave her a piggyback ride to our house.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that.”

“Well I am.” Harry kisses Zayn’s neck and grabs Zayn’s fingers. “Let’s get another drink. I need to wash my mouth out.”

“You’re gross,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes.

 

The following weekend, Zayn’s freezing cold and scowling.

It had been Harry’s idea to sit on Zayn’s patio before the November air got too chilly and he seems content wrapped in Zayn’s fluffiest duvet with a mug of steaming tea in his hands.

“I thought you wanted to sit out here to write,” Zayn says. He’s got his sketchpad in his lap, but his fingers are too numb to draw.

“I’m waiting for the inspiration to come,” Harry replies. He rests his head against the back of the patio chair. His nose is red and his cheeks are flushed.

“You’re so full of that hippie bullshit.”

“You love my hippie bullshit, baby” Harry teases. “You love how bendy I am from yoga and how organic fruit makes my jizz sweeter. You love my expensive shampoo even though you say it smells like burnt wood.” Harry bites his lip and looks at Zayn. “I bet you wish you knew me when I had long hair.”

“Do not,” Zayn murmurs, drinking Harry in.

“You could’ve really wrapped your fingers in it—pulled on it too.”

“Harry,” Zayn warns because the way Harry’s looking at him has fireworks shooting in his stomach.

“Zayn,” Harry responds, leaning closer.

The duvet slips off of his shoulder and reveals smooth milky skin. Zayn flirts with the idea of yanking Harry closer and kissing him, but then Harry giggles, pulls the duvet tighter around himself, and sits up.

He’s got an innocent smile on his face, although the look in his eyes says he knows what he’s doing.

“Harry-”

“Shh,” Harry says quickly. He puts his tea on the table between their chairs and picks up his notebook and pen.

“Harry,” Zayn tries again with a deeper, more insistent voice.

“Can’t talk, Zayn.” Harry scribbles something on a fresh piece of paper. “I just got inspired.”

He winks at Zayn then gets to work.

 

It hasn’t been bothering Zayn too much.

Sure, he sometimes he wonders why Harry and Winnie broke up. Of course, he’s thought about why she was okay with Harry taking a yearlong job overseas. And yeah, Zayn is curious as to how much she knows about him.

It’s natural.

Perfectly normal.

Zayn’s had conversations with his exes about their exes before they were each other’s exes and that was… fine. It wasn’t awkward and it came up organically. However, Zayn’s not entirely sure how he should approach this subject.

He could just ask Harry, although that’s unpredictable and Harry might be offended. He might close up and avoid Zayn for a few days which would lead to an inevitable argument and some yelling. Niall would be heartbroken and so would Lia. Louis might even care a little bit and then Zayn’s going to uselessly be Louis’ _Facebook_ friend unless he decides to delete him.

Which would of course be heartless and unforgivable, but Louis doesn’t seem like the type to care about what other people think of him.

They’d drink to numb the pain and Louis would shit talk Zayn for sure. Unlike Niall who wouldn’t have a bad thing to say about Harry even if he was hiding something massive about his relationship with Winnie.

Like if they were married or in love or worse, a one night stand where they remained friends after she found out she was pregnant.

Of course Harry would stick around and be supportive of that. Of course he would be-

“Zayn?”

Zayn blinks out of his stupor and stares at the television. The last time he checked they were watching footy and now golf is on.

Niall takes the bong from Zayn’s lap and hesitantly places it on the table.

“Might want to slow down a bit,” Niall says. “You looked kinda grouchy and murderous.”

Zayn blinks at him again, even slower than the first time.

Christ, he’s high.

 

“I just don’t think that being this stressed is good for you,” Harry says, pacing in front of the television for the third time.

God, Zayn has a headache. It started when Zayn missed his bus in the morning and then walked into a meeting late. Usually, it wouldn’t be a big deal, except the van der Watt’s were waiting in the boardroom and Corden was glaring at him. He can still feel the humiliation from when James had grimaced and introduced him as the ‘creative director for now.’

Bronwyn had giggled of course. She had turned to Mrs. van der Watt and chuckled with a hand covering her mouth before glancing away from Zayn’s gaze.

It only got worse from there. Zayn was half conscious for the meeting and Niall kept kicking him awake under the table. He covered Zayn’s arse when he forgot to bring his notes and he made sure that their clients were always laughing and smiling.

“I don’t have a choice,” Zayn tells Harry.

“You _do_ ,” Harry insists. “You can choose to be upset or you can channel your energy into more productive outlets.”

“I’m not angry fucking you,” Zayn says.

Harry settles his hands on his hips and looks sternly at Zayn, effectively blocking Zayn’s view of the film.

“It’s not healthy to be this tense. You’re stressed and I can feel it.”

“I’m not asking you to feel it.” Zayn rubs his eyes. All he wanted was to rant about his shit day, drink some beer, have a lazy shag on the sofa, then go to bed early. He didn’t anticipate that Harry would call him out for his sour moods and now they’re in a weird argument where Zayn doesn’t know if it’s an actual argument or if it’s all in his head.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Harry says.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Zayn counters. “I just need you to listen.”

“I get that, but it stresses me out when you rant about your co-worker.” Harry stumbles around the coffee table and then straddles Zayn’s thighs. He runs his fingertips along Zayn’s neck and looks at him. “Who gives a fuck if your co-worker’s a fucking Satan-worshipping bitch?” Zayn snorts at Harry repeating Zayn’s earlier words. “You’re brilliant at your job and you deserve your position and I think you’re completely capable.”

Zayn relaxes when Harry kisses his forehead.

“And when this advertisement is done, I’ll take you out for a nice meal and we can drink sparkling wine and we can fuck all over your flat.”

“I’m not fucking you on the patio. It’s too cold and your dick will get frostbite and fall off.”

“I know I was being sarcastic earlier, but fuck her if she treats you like that.” Harry digs his thumb into Zayn’s temple and massages with the perfect amount of pressure. “You’re hardworking and I know that she’s jealous because she sees how successful you are.”

“Harry-”

“She probably has sad, lonely wanks because no one wants to spend time with her.”

“Harry!”

“You don’t have to have lonely wanks,” Harry says, flirtatiously. “I’ll spend time with you.”

“You’re the worst,” Zayn groans, but he still lets Harry undress him.

 

Zayn checks his phone for the fifth time despite knowing how rude it looks. It’s just that a two hundred year old turtle could work the checkout faster than the freckled teenager is. It doesn’t help that the woman who’s two people in front of him seems to have misplaced her credit card. Zayn’s a minute away from declaring that he’ll buy her laundry detergent and bag of oranges when she pulls it out with a slight laugh. She smiles in that ‘silly me’ kind of way that strangers do, but Zayn can’t find it in himself to match it. He’s got a basketful of chicken and vegetables and he needs to get to Harry’s.

He checks his phone for the sixth time.

“In a rush, son?” The man next in queue asks.

Zayn appraises him. He’s got salt and pepper hair that’s balding at his temples. His bright red glasses sit low on his nose and he’s wearing a sweater vest underneath his jacket. His eyes are kind and the smile on his face is friendly. Zayn decides he’s kind.

“My boyfriend’s sick.”

The man frowns, pulling his mustache further over his upper lip. “Did you want to go in front of me?” He’s got a bag of liquorice allsorts and a sack of potatoes. Zayn feels guilty for the multitude of items he has. He opens his mouth to say just that when the man picks up his items.

“Go in front, please.”

“It’s alright,” Zayn says, but now the bored looking teenager is staring at him in a ‘hurry the fuck up’ way that Zayn blushing and thanking the man profusely. Once his transaction is complete, he grabs the paper bags and thanks the man again before dashing out the door.

The walk to Harry’s house from the shop is usually twenty minutes, but Zayn makes it in thirteen, beet red and panting.

“You look like shit,” Harry teases, then follows it up by sneezing into a wad of tissues.

“Not as shitty as you,” Zayn laughs. He leans in and kisses Harry’s forehead. The skin is too hot and a bit damp.

“What’s with the bags?” Harry questions as he guides Zayn into the living room. Liana’s sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She’s watching a cartoon with subtitles playing and has a colouring book in her lap. “Say hi to Zayn, babe.”

“Hi, Zee,” she says without taking her eyes off the television.

Harry rolls his eyes and yanks Zayn into the kitchen. “What’s all this?”

Zayn places the bags on the counter and shrugs.

“I thought I could make you and Lia some chicken soup. I’ve got all the ingredients, just need a couple pots.”

“I wish I wasn’t sick so I could kiss you,” Harry says mournfully. “I would love that, but Lia doesn’t eat meat.”

“She doesn’t?” Zayn asks, racking his memory for any instances when they ate together. It was mostly pancakes or waffles or tofu fajitas and now that Zayn thinks of it, he’s not sure if he’s ever seen her eat it. “I don’t have to add the chicken.”

“She can have cereal,” Harry tells him.

“I’m not gonna make her eat cereal.” Zayn touches the back of his hand to Harry’s sweaty forehead. “How about you nap and I’ll make dinner.”

“But Lia-”

“Ask her if she’s okay with me cooking dinner while you sleep. I bet you she doesn’t even care.” Harry leans into Zayn’s touch. “Good, now go.”

“You’re the best,” Harry grins. “I wish I could snog you breathless.” Immediately after, Harry sneezes. It’s big and ugly and his nose is bright red. Zayn’s so in love with him he could scream.

“Go to bed,” Zayn laughs. “I’ll check on you in a half hour.”

Harry smiles before he shuffles into the living room. Zayn can hear him murmuring something to Liana. The creak of the stairs quickly follows.

 

“Zee?”

Zayn turns around to see Liana standing in her purple pyjama playsuit with her frog stuffie hanging limply from her hand.

“Yes, love?”

“Where’s daddy?”

Zayn rests the wooden spoon on the hob and kneels to her height.

“He’s still feeling a bit ill.” Liana frowns and Zayn smooths it out with his thumb. Her green eyes cloud with worry and she sucks on her bottom lip.

“Should I bring him tea?”

Zayn laughs lightly and shakes his head. Sometimes he forgets that Liana’s only five years old; she rarely becomes grouchy or throws a fit and her ability to express her emotions can be better than Zayn’s.

“Supper’s almost ready. Do you want to clean your hands while I wake him?”

Liana nods and scurries away, leaving her frog on the floor for Zayn to pick up. He carries it with him to Harry’s bedroom.

“Everyone will see what he’s doing and know you’re a hard worker. Don’t worry about that, you don’t need the added stress—well he’s a dick, then.” Although Harry’s voice is deep and croaky, he sounds adamant and soothing all at once. There’s a long pause where Zayn thinks the conversation may have ended, but—“Yeah, he’s making supper. No, I said—of course he doesn’t mind watching her while I’m ill.” Zayn jumps slightly when Harry coughs. He sounds horrible, but not horrible enough for Zayn to interrupt the conversation that they’re clearly having about him. “If you’d really like then you can pick her up after supper, but I don’t know what you want me to tell him.”

Dread and regret climb up Zayn’s throat until he feels like he’s suffocating. He tugs the bottom of his shirt and leans against the wall, telling himself to calm down. He’s only hearing half of the conversation and he has no idea what Winnie’s saying about him.

By the time Zayn zones back in, he realizes that Harry’s gone silent and he can hear Liana singing songs from _Moana_ downstairs.

Zayn breathes through his nose and knocks on the door. Harry is sitting up in bed, sipping from his water bottle when Zayn comes in.

“Hi,” Harry says, deep and croaky.

“Hey,” Zayn sits gingerly on the bed, avoiding the used tissues scattered around the bed. He rests the back of his hand on Harry’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“Gross.” Harry sniffles and sits up. “How’s the soup coming along?”

“It’s ready when you are. I can bring you a bowl if you don’t want to get up.”

A smile graces Harry’s lips for half a second before he’s screwing his face up and grabbing for a tissue. He sneezes into it just in time; it sounds painful.

“You stay here. I’ll bring you a tray.”

“No, no,” Harry refuses. He starts to collect the tissues around him. “If I don’t come down, Lia will want to eat here, so.”

“If you’re sure,” Zayn shrugs. He feels uneasy and unsure as Harry dumps the tissues into the bin and washes his hands in the bathroom.

“I’m sure if I could smell anything, it would smell delicious,” Harry grins. He takes Zayn’s hand in his and wipes his nose with the back of his other hand.

“That’s gross,” Zayn says. “Don’t let Lia see you doing that.”

Harry just smiles bigger at him in and winks.

It’s almost enough for the uneasiness in his chest to settle.

 

When Zayn wakes up the next morning, Harry’s head is on his chest and his breathing is even. His breathing is not as ragged or stuffed as it had been the night before. Zayn had tried to sleep as far away from Harry as possible, but he seems to have migrated to the center of the bed. He brushes his fingers up and down Harry’s spine, feeling the way his back expands and contracts.

“I can feel you staring, creep.”

“I’m not a creep,” Zayn says. He slides his arm up Harry’s back until he’s wedging it into his armpit.

Harry squirms and squawks, nearly flinching off the bed. He swings at Zayn’s dick, but Zayn catches his hand and straddles him, pushing Harry’s hand into the pillow.

Harry inhales raggedly and blinks up at him.

“You feeling any better?”

“Much,” Harry says. “I feel like I can breathe again.”

“Good.” Zayn rolls off of him and slides down the bed. He hooks their ankles together and keeps their fingers locked. “It was all in the soup.”

“Of course,” Harry says seriously. “Do you know the time?”

Zayn doesn’t feel like craning his neck to check his phone, so he just shrugs. “Feels early.”

Harry rolls his eyes and lets go of Zayn to check his.

“Half six,” he murmurs. When he returns to the bed, he’s got a condom and lube in his hand.

“Harry,” Zayn laughs. He shouldn’t have expected less if he’s honest.

“I was deprived,” Harry pouts. He scratches a nail between Zayn’s pecs and bites down on Zayn’s closest nipple. Nipple play has never really been something Zayn’s into—it’s Harry who much prefers a little biting and licking and tugging and scratching—but it does wonders to him this early in the morning.

“You’re sick.”

“I feel better, Doctor.”

Zayn laughs and ruffles Harry’s hair. It’s so much longer than it used to be, but Harry hasn’t mentioned getting a trim and Zayn likes the length, so. “Pretty sure Doctors aren’t allowed to fuck their patients.”

“That’s what makes it sexy,” Harry says matter-of-factly. “It’s risqué.”

“So risqué,” Zayn mocks. Harry brushes his lips against Zayn’s skin. His eyes are no longer puffy and he hasn’t sniffled since he woke up. “Is Lia still asleep?”

“Of course,” Harry whispers. He trails his hand lower until he’s cupping Zayn’s dick. He woke up with a semi that’s been steadily growing since Harry started squirming and flirting. “I wanna ride you,” Harry says. “It’s been so long.”

“It’s been three days,” Zayn teases.

“Not since you fucked me. Since I rode you,” Harry clarifies, annoyed. “Please.” Harry shoves his hand down Zayn’s pants and wraps his fingers around Zayn’s dick. “You won’t have to do any of the work. I know you love that.”

“M’not lazy,” Zayn says, even though Harry never implied that.

“I didn’t say you were.” Harry nuzzles Zayn’s week-old scruff. “You’re the most generous, baby,” he kisses Zayn’s jaw, “always give me what I want,” he sucks a mark behind his ear, “what I _need_.”

“You _need_ to ride me?”

“Yes,” Harry hisses when Zayn spreads his legs.

“Then hurry up and finger yourself,” Zayn tells him. “Make it quick. I’ve got to leave in twenty.”

“Plenty of time,” Harry grins. He gets to his knees and uncaps the lube.

He makes quick work of fucking himself on one finger, then two. He straddles Zayn’s hips and screws three fingers up his arse, riding them as if they’re Zayn. When he starts to whine too loudly, panting and heaving his chest like he’s close, Zayn wraps his fingers around the base of Harry’s dick and squeezes.

“Zayn-”

“Don’t come before I fuck you,” Zayn chastises.

Harry blinks his hazy eyes open. “Fuck-”

“Did you forget I was here?” Zayn asks, amused. He already feels a bit woozy with want.

“No,” Harry says, too quickly. “I just-”

“Well don’t waste any more time,” Zayn says.

Quick as a whip, Harry mounts him. He swivels his hips and starts rocking immediately, not giving him any time to adjust.

Zayn knows that Harry likes it to hurt—he likes the stretch and the burn and the _challenge_ of it, although they’ve never talked about it.

Zayn digs his fingers into Harry’s hips to help him out.

“Feel so good,” Harry says, staring up at the ceiling. His neck is bared and Zayn surges up to mark it. Harry moans as Zayn’s beard scratches him up. His bouncing grows wobbly as Zayn bites and licks and bruises Harry’s neck and half his chest. Harry could easily cover it up with a shirt and a scarf, but in his line of work, Zayn doubts that he would.

“I’m honestly so close,” Harry says, pushing Zayn onto his back and leaving his hands on his chest. “Might come just from this.”

“Just?”

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes and fixes Zayn with an unimpressed pout. “You know what I mean.”

Zayn takes his hands away and folds them behind his head. It stretches out his lean arm muscles and pulls his stomach tight. He smirks when Harry rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time, accepting the challenge of doing all the work.

It takes no time at all for Harry to work himself back up. He’s whining and groaning and getting so loud that Zayn almost forgets that he’s trying not to react at all. The truth is that his legs keep jerking and his toes are curling and tangling in the sheets. He grips onto the tops of Harry’s thighs and digs the pads of his thumbs into the hard muscles. Harry’s dick bobs as he rocks on Zayn’s dick and belatedly, Zayn wishes that he had sucked him off for a bit.

“I’m-” Harry catches his sneeze in his hands, clenching so unbearably tight that Zayn cries out. At the same time, Harry comes—unexpectedly shooting off onto Zayn’s stomach and chest in thick ropes. It seems to last ages and by the time Harry’s done he ducks his head to hide his face.

“Did you just-” Zayn questions, astounded.

“Stop,” Harry says, mortified.

“I can’t believe-”

“I couldn’t help it!”

“You clenched so hard.”

“Zayn, stop.”

“That was so hot,” Zayn says in wonderment.

Slowly, Harry uncovers his eyes. He sniffles animatedly and stares at Zayn. “You-”

Zayn yanks Harry into a dirty kiss. He’s still hard and nestled snugly up Harry’s arse. He thrusts experimentally and Harry moans into his mouth.

“Can still fuck me if you’d like.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asks. “Won’t hurt too much?”

“Nope,” Harry says. “I just don’t want to do all the work.”

This time, Zayn’s the one who rolls his eyes. He flips Harry onto his back and gives a few ginger thrusts before going a bit harder. Harry splays his limbs and manages to meet Zayn’s hips sloppily.

Zayn buries his face in Harry’s neck and bites down as he comes.

“Jesus,” Harry sighs, curling his hands into fists. “I need to wash my hands.”

“You need a shower,” Zayn tells him. Harry slaps his hand against the come on Zayn’s stomach and spreads it around. “And now so do I.”

Harry giggles; he has little bags around his eyes and his nose is still a bit red. His lips are so pink they look edible and the flush from his cheeks has spread down his chest.

“Wanna shower before Lia wakes up?” Harry offers.

Zayn contemplates it. He could very well get sick from the amount of shared fluids, but then he looks at Harry’s face and his resolve melts. He’s pretty sure he’d do anything Harry asked him.

 

Zayn slurps the remnants of his fizzy drink out of it’s can before tossing it into the bin outside the front of his office building.

“You not gonna recycle that, mate?”

Zayn turns towards the voice with raised eyebrows and a blush on his cheeks. “There’s not a recycling bin out here.”

The woman, with her hands on her hips and an expectant look on her face, is dressed smartly in a pair of black slacks and a rose coloured blazer. Her black hair is swept into a flowy ponytail and she’s got light blue eyeliner on. Zayn’s never seen her in his life and he’s fairly familiar with the people who go in and out of the building James’s company works out of.

“Well, I imagine there’s one somewhere in the building.” The woman’s accent is thick and Geordie.

“I suppose I can,” Zayn shrugs awkwardly and reaches into the bin. It’s filled with empty coffee cups and crumpled takeaway bags. Gingerly, he picks it up and holds it between his thumb and forefinger. Realistically, he’s held worse in his hand, but he feels like a scolded child and the embarrassment colours his cheeks further.

“Well done,” the woman says. “Don’t let me catch you again.” She winks at him as she passes.

Zayn doesn’t think it was a chat up line in the slightest, but it still leaves him unsettled. He loiters around outside for a few more minutes in order to avoid an uncomfortable lift ride.

“You look like you’ve had a good morning,” Niall smirks.

“Shut up,” Zayn hisses. He looks around the staff room even though there’s no one else around.

Niall’s smirk just widens. “Good night?”

“Harry was sick,” Zayn explains. “I went over and cooked soup for him and his daughter.”

“Aw,” Josh coos, touching his heart. “Then you fucked him into good health?”

Zayn flicks him on the nose before sitting down. He accepts the piece of peanut butter toast Niall offers him. “Actually-”

He’s cut off by Bronwyn storming into the room. The door doesn’t slam against the recycling bin, but it might as well have. She emphasizes her point by loudly saying into her phone, “It was completely inappropriate!”

Zayn exchanges a look with Niall. He bites into his toast, intrigued. Bronwyn has only expressed anger at him and to see it redirected at someone else well… he pities the poor soul.

“You looked like you’d been fucking strangled! You better have a good explanation because I won’t be the one to tell her that her-” The door shuts again after she’s grabbed one of her meal replacement drinks.

“What I would give to hear the rest of that conversation,” Niall laughs.

“Christ, she’s in a mood,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes.

“I wonder if James’s told her, her replacement is coming in today,” Josh wonders aloud.

“S’not her replacement,” Niall says around a mouthful of his bagel sandwich. “The girl’s just here ‘til her maternity leave is up.”

Zayn bites on his lip in order to stop his grin. He’ll never tell anyone, but sometimes when he’s daydreaming at work, he imagines how harmonious the workplace will be without Bronwyn.

“I hope she’s down for after work beers,” Niall says, thoughtfully.

“I hope she’s good at her job,” Zayn contributes.

“I hope she’s hot,” Josh supplies with a smirk.

The door bursts open and Zayn prepares himself for another confrontation with Bronwyn. Instead, James stands there in another one of his work trousers and striped shirts.

“Bossman,” Niall greets, lifting his cup of coffee to him. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“Malik,” James says with a smile. “Just the man I was looking for. Come to my office please.”

Josh waggles his eyebrows while Niall cackles and high-fives him. Sometimes Zayn hates his coworkers.

“Do something useful,” Zayn says in an attempt to show some authority.

James doesn’t say anything as he leads Zayn to his office, though he doesn’t expect him to. James only ever talks about work or his wife unless he’s had a few drinks in him. Then he turns into a comic who laughs too loud and yells his jokes. It’s happened at a few company parties and whenever James tries to impress a client by bringing them to dinner with the higher-ups. Zayn’s always included and he dutifully indulges James—although it’s not difficult given that James is actually funny sometimes.

“So,” James begins once he’s seated. “Wait, why in the world are you holding an empty fizzy drink?”

“Oh,” Zayn says, “it um, I meant to recycle it in the lunchroom.”

James makes a sour face and gestures to the bin beside his desk. “Well throw it away.”

Zayn grimaces and does as he’s told. There’s an odd feeling in his chest like when Harry scolds Zayn for putting egg shells in the bin instead of the compost bag or when he does the wrong voices for Liana’s favourite bedtime story.

“Anyway,” James says folding his hands on the top of his desk. It’s one of his main power stances and Zayn always gets a kick out of the way James brings his shoulder near his ears to express his authority. “I wanted you to meet Bronwyn’s replacement before I send her to the wolves.”

“Okay,” Zayn says compliantly. “You said her name was Amelia, right?”

“Right,” James nods, shortly. “She’s a lovely girl, very smart. She has lots of experience, but she’s young like you, mid-twenties I believe. She mostly floats around companies and does temp work, but her references were great. She’s a real team player and always completes her work on time. No one had a bad word to say. I’m sure she’ll fit right in with your group, though you’ll have to watch Josh because she’s a looker.”

Zayn nods along. She sounds like a breath of fresh air compared to Bronwyn. “I’m sure she will.”

“Alright, I’ll just pop out and get her.”

Zayn thrums his fingers on his knee while he waits for James’s return. He’s left the door open and when he returns, he steps aside to reveal—the woman from outside.

“Zayn, this is Amelia, Amelia this is-”

“The guy who doesn’t believe in recycling,” she says with a raised eyebrow. She glances at the bin beside James’s desk and Zayn sinks in his chair. “Nice to formally meet you, regardless.”

“Nice to formally meet you as well,” Zayn echoes. He stands quickly and offers her his hand. “It’ll be lovely to have you on the team.”

“I’m sure,” Amelia says, shaking it.

 

Leaves crunch under Zayn’s boots as he makes his way to the park. The smell of rain lingers in the air. Zayn hopes that it stays away until Liana’s too tired to complain about it.

The walk to the park isn’t nearly as daunting as it had been the first time. Liana’s warmed up to him quite a bit more, regardless if he bribes her with a sweet or not and whenever he’s colouring or playing with Liana, Harry always watches them with a soppy expression. It sends a flutter in his chest and a blush to his cheeks and the word _love_ has popped into Zayn’s mind a couple of times, but he hasn’t allowed himself to think about that too much.

“Zee!”

Zayn crouches down just in time to catch Liana catapulting herself into his arms.

“Wow, don’t you look pretty,” he says, spinning her in a circle.

“She just ate,” Harry warns him. He places a hand on Liana’s back and ducks in to kiss Zayn on the cheek. “Hello,” he greets, a smile stretching on his face. Liana whines, jutting her cheek for Harry to kiss as well. “And hello to you too.”

Liana covers her face and giggles, squirming for Zayn to let her down.

She runs off to the playground and Harry takes Zayn’s hand.

“Hi,” he says, leaning in to kiss Zayn properly this time.

Zayn refuses to admit how breathless it makes him.

“Hey.” He runs his hands through the sides of Harry’s hair. It’s grown long and a bit curly; his disdain for cutting it is a direct contrast from Zayn who continually keeps the sides of his hair cropped short. “You smell nice.”

“New body wash,” Harry says, “apricot ginger.”

“You would,” Zayn snorts.

“It was on special.” Harry tucks his hands into Zayn’s jacket pockets and burrows into his chest. “M’cold.”

“You’re wearing a sweatshirt underneath a jacket,” Zayn points out. He knows Harry is probably wearing another shirt underneath, but doesn’t say anything.

His attention is ripped away when Liana screams for him. At first, his heart leaps into his throat trying to locate her, but once he sees that she’s waving from the top of the playground, he’s able to wave back.

“She needs to stop giving me a heart attack,” Harry sighs, although he looks relieved.

“She’s excited,” Zayn defends.

Liana watches them as she goes down the slide. She climbs the ladder quickly and runs across the bridge.

“Zee, watch me!” She grabs onto a monkey bar and start swinging.

Zayn claps loudly, cheering her on. A mother looks over from where she’s nursing a baby, but doesn’t make a comment. Zayn can’t be bothered to tamper his enthusiasm. He yells for Liana to keep going when she’s nearly at the end and when she races towards them, she grabs his hand.

“Push me on the swings!”

“Manners,” Harry chastises.

“ _Please_ ,” Liana sighs, yanking on Zayn’s hand. Zayn laughs helplessly, following her.

Zayn can’t contain his excitement at Liana’s elation. She screams and giggles and encourages him to push her higher. Zayn keeps a watchful eye on how much the chains are moving and how tight she’s holding on. Harry swings beside them, telling her to catch the clouds between her feet.

Zayn’s arms are sore and his fingertips hurt from the cold when Harry receives a phone call.

“Do you mind if I…” Harry gestures to a tree before walking off.

“I don’t want to go to mummy’s,” Liana says a few moments later.

“Isn’t mummy’s fun?” Zayn asks, trying not to pry. He’s not sure what the protocol for talking about your boyfriend’s daughter’s mother is, but he’s sure there’s something on it about maintaining a safe distance and not incriminating yourself.

“She has a baby in her tummy,” Liana says. She digs her heels into the gravel and Zayn grabs onto the chains to stop her from swinging. He kneels in front of her and waits for her to go on. “She sleeps more than I do and she never wants to play dollies.”

“She doesn’t?” Zayn asks, placing a hand on her knee. “I bet she wants to play with you lots, but she’s just tired because she’s trying to make the baby really big and strong so they can meet you.”

Liana stares at her feet and doesn’t say anything. Her lip wobbles dangerously.

With a quick glance, Zayn confirms that Harry’s not even watching them and he’s nowhere near done his phone call.

“I don’t want a baby,” Liana whines. Her face pinches up and her fingers tangle together. “Summer has one and she says she can’t play with it because it’s too small.”

“But after its small, it will get really big and you can play with it all the time.”

“Really?” Liana asks, hopeful and quiet.

“Really,” Zayn says tilting her chin up. A few tears have escaped down her cheeks. “You’re going to be the best big sister,” Zayn reassures her. “You’re so smart and fun and they’re going to love playing with you.”

Liana smiles properly this time and grips her knees.

“Can I go down the slide again?”

Zayn stands surprised yet relieved for the topic change and offers her his hand.

 

When Harry first approached him at the bar, hips swinging and walking dick first, Zayn thought it was going to a night of perfunctory small talk before they fell into bed together.

But Zayn got so much more than he bargained for.

He gains a boyfriend who eats tongue first and laughs with his entire body; who cooks Zayn dinner and kisses him like he needs it more than air. He gains playdates with a firecracker of a girl who sings as soon as she wakes up and twirls until she falls down; who clings to Zayn like a lifeline and whispers about her day as if they’re trading secrets.

Zayn gets early mornings in the park and late nights watching Disney movies. He gets drunken shags over kitchen tables and greasy midnight kebabs when they can’t sleep. He has someone to share his secrets with, to trace his tattoos, and kiss his scars. He has someone to challenge his ideas, adding perspectives that he had never thought about.

There are big moments like when Zayn meets Harry’s mother and sister on a cloudy day in November. He feels like he already knows them; he walked into the kitchen while Harry was chatting with her on speakerphone and Gemma drunkenly followed him on Instagram in the middle of August. He brings a bottle of wine for Anne and a coffee mug for Gemma. Gemma tells him about the massive crush Harry had on David Hasselhoff and Anne teases Harry about how he never brought his boyfriends or girlfriends home because he was afraid they would drive them away.

One day Zayn’s on the phone with his mum and Harry pleads to talk with her until Zayn sighs and hands it over. Harry’s on his best behaviour, dutifully answering all of Trisha’s questions and sharing recipes and making fun of Zayn. Zayn falls asleep and wakes up half an hour later to Harry kissing his forehead and pulling a blanket over them.

Then there are smaller moments—moments when Harry wants to try a new recipe and ends up making a disaster of Zayn’s kitchen; moments when Zayn comes home in a bad mood and Harry’s waiting for him with a blue planet episode queued; moments when they only have an hour to grab lunch before their jobs pull them away.

It’s not all perfect, because of course it’s not.

Harry gets annoyed when Zayn leaves his clothes strewn around his house because he says it sets a bad example for Liana. He has this infuriating habit of mumbling under his breath if something frustrates him and it irritates Zayn to no end when he can’t understand what he’s saying. He never rinses the dishes before he puts them in the dishwasher and he’s constantly misplacing his keys. He calls Zayn out when he’s being moody, picking and prodding until Zayn relents and tells him what’s wrong.

It’s not often that they argue, but when they do it’s about something petty like whose turn it is to do the washing up or why Harry didn’t squeeze the toothpaste to the top of the tube.

But at the end of the day, when Harry falls asleep first, mouth open and snoring directly in Zayn’s face, Zayn can’t believe how he got so lucky.

 

So of course, everything unravels when Niall invites the boys over for a Fifa tournament.

Zayn arrives after a long day of completing the van der Watt assignment to three half-drunken men yelling at the television. Harry springs off the sofa as Louis leaps to steal his controller.

“Hi babe,” Harry says, grabbing Zayn by the collar and pulling him in for a kiss. It feels warm and comforting and in the back of Zayn’s head is a flashing sign that screams _home_. “You look like a hot shot professional.”

Zayn shrugs out of his jacket and laughs when Harry runs his hands down the front of his navy button up. It’s rolled up to his elbows and Harry brushes his fingers along his forearms as he bites his lip.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but it doesn’t sound like Haz is drowning so I know you’re not making out,” Louis calls from the sofa.

Harry makes an aborted noise and abandons Zayn in order to put Louis in a headlock. Zayn rolls his eyes as he passes on his way to change in Niall’s bathroom. When he comes back out, there’s a free spot in the armchair. Zayn cracks a beer and watches Niall and Harry play against each other. He’s bone tired and considered cancelling on the night, though he figured he might as well have a beer and make an appearance. Harry’s witnessed Niall’s filthy Irish banter when they’ve gone to the pub, but he seems alarmed at the words Niall strings together when he starts losing. He curses Harry, the video game, and the entire football association all while pounding back Guinness.

Zayn’s content to eat Harry’s spinach dip, starving after an annoyingly long day in the office.

“This is good, babe,” Zayn compliments. He shoves more into his mouth and licks it off his fingers.

“Thanks,” Harry grins. “Winnie tweaked the original recipe and gave it to me.”

Something in Zayn’s gut makes him pause. With Winnie’s impending due date it seems that Harry has been spending more and more time talking about her or shopping for her or taking care of Liana. Zayn’s not heartless—he knows that Harry’s stepping up for Liana—yet he can’t help the dark and ugly feeling creeping up his chest.

“Is it gluten-free?” Louis jests.

“Don’t be a dick,” Harry defends. “I used Greek yogurt instead of mayonnaise, though.”

“You fucking would,” Louis laughs. He raises his hands a second later and cheers at the goal he scores against Niall.

Niall tosses the remote at Zayn and slides the plate closer.

“I think it’s great,” Niall says around a mouthful. “Life changing.”

Zayn ignores them and focuses on kicking Louis’ arse. He fails miserably. The uneasy feeling in his stomach doesn’t settle so he drowns it in more beer. Zayn watches Harry and Louis play, jabbing elbows and throwing cheap insults. When that game ends they decide to pause to take tequila shots. Zayn feels looser as the night goes on.

“Robbie was asking when he can see Lia again,” Louis says, tossing his feet into Niall’s lap. “Think he’s got a bit of a crush.”

Harry laughs and plops himself into Zayn’s lap.

“Lia’s amazing,” Harry sighs, happily. “Winnie says that she’s really been succeeding in school like, reading at a high level, and willingly doing maths.”

“I hate maths,” Niall comments, scrunching up his nose. “How is she even learning that? Isn’t she like 5?”

“Yeah. Winnie bought her a bunch of exercise books and Lia loves them.”

“God, I wish I could convince Robbie to do some fucking homework. All that kid cares about is footy and food.”

“So essentially, he’s just like his dad?” Harry teases.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Louis grins like the proud father he is before launching into a story about how Robbie insisted on eating out on the floor like their dog for an entire week. When he’s done, he refills everyone’s shot glasses again. They cheers before knocking them back and Louis rubs his hands together. “Right lads. This is my one night off from dad duty and I believe we should make it a proper good one.”

Harry frowns and plucks the bottle of beer out of Zayn’s hand. “This is fun.”

“It’s fun,” Louis nods, “but it’s not like a real rager.”

“Lou _is_ ,” Harry whines. “M’too old for that.”

“I agree with Louis,” Niall chimes in. “Let’s get fucked.”

Zayn groans, already anticipating his hangover.

“You can pick the place, Haz.”

Harry exchanges a look with Louis that signifies that they’re up to absolutely no good. “Luna?”

“Luna,” Louis nods.

 

As dirty as Luna looks from the outside, it’s clean and clubby on the inside. The bar is spotless and the drinks are cheap and they find a high table near the back of the room. It’s not too busy for a Friday, but they’re definitely the oldest people in the bar. Louis gets a pitcher for the table and fills Harry’s glass with so much foam that Niall squawks and shoves him out of his seat.

“Bastard,” Harry laughs, sipping and coming back with a foamy moustache. Zayn leans in to kiss it off his mouth.

“This place is cute,” Niall observes. He bobs his head to the beat of the music, glancing around the club.

“It’s my favourite,” Harry says proudly.

“We used to come here all the time during Harry’s first year,” Louis says proudly, swinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Face like this, we would just walk right in and Harry could always get us free drinks.”

“How did you find this place?” Niall asks.

“Just stumbled upon it one day. It’s actually where I met Winnie,” Harry provides. He smiles fondly in the direction of the bar. “She was a bartender and would always sneak us an extra shot.”

“Romantic,” Zayn snorts. Niall pinches him hard on the knee. Zayn looks into his beer and thanks God that he can’t see his reflection.

“Harry would drag me here every weekend to hit on her,” Louis rolls his eyes. “It was disgusting; didn’t last very long though.”

“I was wooing her,” Harry frowns. He faces Zayn and puts on a proper smile when he says, “We actually named Liana after this place.”

Zayn opens his mouth and feels like he can’t speak. Luckily, Niall pipes up with, “What?”

“Yeah, with her middle name, Moon. It’s like, Luna… Moon.” He waves his hand around and Zayn ignores him in favour of refilling their glasses.

Louis takes a smoke break an hour later and Zayn follows him out. He’s been smoking less, the combination of Harry’s distaste for the smell and the harm it could cause Liana is enough for him to wane off of them, but right now he feels like he could really use a smoke to calm himself.

“You alright?” Louis asks, leaning in close to light the end of Zayn’s cigarette for him. He cups the end of his own cigarette and lights it quickly. He takes a deep inhale and glances at Zayn, who’s still silent. “You’ve seemed tense all night.”

“Just work stress.” Zayn turns his head and blows the smoke away from Louis. When he looks back, Louis’ squinting at him.

“You sure?” Louis digs the toe of his shoe into the crack in the pavement. “I know we’re not like… as close as you are with Neil-” Zayn snorts, “but you can like, talk to me if you want.”

“Thanks,” Zayn contemplates unloading all of his deepest and darkest insecurities, “it’s just a couple of things I should probably talk to Harry about.”

Louis nods and crosses an arm over his chest. He’s shivering a bit and even though his stature is small, he has a natural arrogance about him that makes him look mildly intimidating.

“Harry keeps a lot of things bottled up,” Louis admits. “He seems like an open book, but sometimes he forgets that like, people care about him, y’know?”

Zayn nods even though he’s not entirely sure what Louis is on about.

“If you bring something up, he’ll talk,” Louis shrugs.

Neither of them say any more and they finish their cigarettes before stubbing them and sneaking back to their table. Only Niall sits at a stool and Louis wraps an arm around him.

“Ello Neil,” he greets, stealing his beer.

“You’re a pest, Tommo,” Niall laughs.

“Where’s Harry?” Zayn asks, looking around.

“Out front.” Niall gestures over his shoulder and Zayn looks out the window. He can see Harry smiling on the phone through the window. “Winnie called so he went somewhere quieter.”

Harry looks up while Zayn’s still watching him. He raises a ring-clad hand and waves enthusiastically at him.

“Well, I think I’m gonna head out,” Louis announces. He grabs Harry’s beer and drains it in one go. “You want to share a taxi, or?”

“I think I can walk from here,” Niall says. He slides open his phone and clicks on his navigational app.

“I think Harry’s sleeping at mine,” Zayn tells him.

“Lame,” Louis frowns. He kisses the top of both of their heads before flipping them off over his shoulder.

“I love that man,” Niall laughs, wiping away at a stray tear.

“You love everyone,” Zayn says.

“Love you most.” To prove it, Niall wraps an arm over his shoulder and squeezes tightly. “You alright?”

Zayn folds his arms on the tabletop and rests his head on them. “God, why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Cause you seem stressed, bro. You’ve been quiet all night and you haven’t been laughing at my jokes.”

“You’re not very funny.”

Niall slaps the back of his head. “Don’t be a dick. I’m gonna go home, leave you to brood by yourself.”

“M’not brooding.”

He quietly collects his and Harry’s jackets and thanks the hostess on his way out. Harry’s still on the phone when he approaches behind him. Zayn’s about to announce his presence when he overhears Harry saying, “Yeah of course he’s here too. You don’t own the place—oh my God, it’s not weird. He didn’t see it—he would have—no!” Harry’s laugh sounds fond and alright, Zayn can’t _own_ a laugh, but that’s Harry’s laugh that he exclusively uses for _Zayn_.

Zayn backs up and jogs towards Harry, ensuring that he keeps his footfalls heavy and audible. He doesn’t care about how silly he looks to the patrons in the bar. Anger and confusion mingle in his blood as Harry turns around and smiles.

“I’ve gotta go. He’s brought my jacket,” he laughs and accepts it from Zayn’s outstretched hand. “Yeah, I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” Harry slides the phone into his back pocket, smiling. “Did everyone leave? I only said goodbye to Louis.”

“Niall just left,” Zayn says. “Probably didn’t want to bother you, cause you were on the phone.”

Harry frowns, reaching for Zayn’s hand, but Zayn panics and stuffs them into his pocket. If Harry’s upset, he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Want to get a cab or do you wanna walk?”

“How far are we from yours?”

“Like,” Zayn reads the road sign when they cross the street. “A twenty minute walk if we hurry.”

“Let’s hurry then.”

Save for a few drunken uni students, the walk to Zayn’s flat is eerily quiet. Harry seems content to look into shop windows and watch the cars that pass by. He seems completely ignorant to Zayn’s fowl mood. Zayn’s headache has moved from the back of his head to in front of his eyes, making his head throb even harder. All he wants to do is drink some water, change into comfortable clothes, and sleep for the next twelve hours.

He accomplishes the first two seamlessly, but when Harry stands beside him, shirtless and in a pair of Zayn’s pyjama pants, and opens his mouth to say “Winnie,” Zayn snaps.

“Oh my God,” he explodes, putting his toothbrush into its holder with more force than necessary. “What the fuck is up with you bringing up Winnie so much?”

Harry blinks at his reflection in the mirror then faces Zayn. “What?”

“What the fuck,” Zayn says, enunciating each word slowly, “is up with you mentioning Winnie all night.”

“I… haven’t been?”

Zayn snorts, grabbing his face cloth and wetting it with scalding water. It steams when it touches his skin and he doesn’t spare Harry another glance as he walks—stomps—to his bedroom.

Harry follows him, hot on his heels with a splatter of toothpaste clinging to the corner of his mouth.

“I genuinely have no idea what you’re on about,” Harry says.

Zayn slides under the covers, propping up his pillow and leaning against it. Now that he’s started it, he’s in the mood for a row. He wants to be harsh and cruel and pick at Harry until he gets the reaction he wants, even though he’s not sure what that reaction is at the moment.

“Zayn,” Harry says, patronizingly. “Look at me.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m Liana,” Zayn huffs.

“Then stop acting like a stubborn child!”

“I’m not!” Zayn crosses his arms over his chest and looks away.

Harry crosses his own arms and widens his stance. It infuriates Zayn how hot Harry looks.

Zayn counts to five in his head and when Harry doesn’t say anything, Zayn bites his lip until it hurts.

“You’ll draw blood,” Harry warns.

“Good.”

“Yeah, real mature, Zayn.”

The angry itch doesn’t go away, so Zayn says, “I can’t replace Winnie.”

Harry’s body jerks so hard, Zayn thinks he’s thrown out a knee.

“I’m not asking you to.”

“You couldn’t stop bringing her up tonight,” Zayn says, bitterly. “You were all ‘Winnie’s dip recipe is the best,’ ‘Winnie says Liana is doing so well in school,’ ‘I love Luna ‘cause it’s where Winnie and I fucking met!’” Zayn says in a cheap imitation of Harry’s deep voice.

Harry’s jaw clicks and Zayn feels an ugly twist of satisfaction that his words have an effect on him. “Well Jesus Christ Harry, if you think she’s so fucking great what are you doing here with me?”

“Are you-” Harry shakes his head. “Y’know what,” he grabs his folded clothes on the dresser, “I think I’m gonna go.”

“Now who’s mature?” Zayn taunts.

“Still me. I’m choosing to walk away rather than engage in whatever immature fight you’re trying to pick.”

“I’m not picking a fight,” Zayn denies. “Sorry I’m trying to have an actual conversation.”

“An actual-?” Harry throws his clothes on the bed and puts his hands on his hips. “You’re not trying to have a fucking conversation, Zayn. You won’t tell me what’s bothering you so you’re taking cheap shots at a relationship you never seemed to care about just to get me riled up. Well congrats, because it worked.”

“I’m not-”

“God, this is stupid.” Harry picks up his splayed clothing and doesn’t even look at Zayn as stalks into the bathroom and slams the door.

Zayn slides down the bed and covers his face with the duvet. He can hear Harry knock into the sink and mutter under his breath. As much as he wants to apologize, his ego won’t allow him to get up and confront Harry about what’s actually eating at him.

He pulls the duvet down to his chin when Harry opens the bathroom door.

“Harry-”

“I’m really not in the mood, Zayn.” Resignation has replaced irritation. “I’m drunk and so are you and I don’t want to argue when I’ve got to pick up Liana in the morning.” Harry’s actions contradict his words as he slowly folds Zayn’s pants. There’s still a deep frown etched between Harry’s eyebrows and a pout on his lips.

Zayn has never been good at apologizing first, but this time, it’s probably worth it.

“I’m sorry for picking a fight.”

“I’m not mad at you for picking a fight,” Harry says with downcast eyes. “I’m disappointed that you would use a past relationship against me.”

“That wasn’t my intention.” At Harry’s snort, Zayn clarifies, “at first.”

“Well, gee Zayn, thanks for clearing that up.”

Harry doesn’t move and neither does Zayn.

“What’s actually bothering you?”

Zayn rubs his temples and sighs. He’s both too drunk and not drunk enough for this conversation. The last time he attempted to have a conversation about his feelings, his girlfriend became his ex.

“I don’t think you realize how much you talk about Winnie.”

“I—tonight, I’ll admit that she came up a few times, but we were with Louis and memories just came up.”

“I would need two hands to count the number of times you brought her up this week, without any mention of Liana.”

Harry grunts and tugs at the hem of his shirt. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

“It’s not,” Zayn says, feeling the anger return, feeling like he’s gained the upper hand again. “You go on about her so much and yet, you never talk about me.”

“Why would I talk about you to you?” Harry wonders.

Zayn makes a frustrated noise and glares.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? I hear you on the phone with her.”

“I’ve never spoken poorly about you.”

“That’s because you’ve never said my _name_.” Zayn’s flushed and overheated from the duvet and the frustration and the admission. “It’s always ‘he’s pushing her on the swings,’ ‘I’m over at his house,’ ‘he’s sick.’”

“Stop mocking my voice.”

“I’m not mocking you, Harry I’m trying to prove a point.”

Harry runs a hand through his dishevelled hair.

“I don’t know if it’s because you’re embarrassed about dating a man or if it’s just _me_ that you’re embarrassed about, but I have never tried to hide you. I’ve never talked about you like you weren’t a person. That’s dehumanizing and it’s shit to know that you won’t even tell the mother of your child who I am because-”

“Because it’s none of her business!” Harry growls. He’s thrown his arms up and his face is bright red. “It’s none of her fucking business until I decide it is.”

“How is that—Harry, how is that any better?”

“Why do you even care?” Harry wonders aloud. “You’ve never cared about my relationship with her until now.”

“You’ve never told me,” Zayn says.

“You’ve never asked,” Harry fires back. He scrubs a hand over his face again. “God I’m so fucking tired. Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.”

“It’s almost 3 in the morning. I’m not letting you leave like this.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the sofa,” Harry decides.

“Harry-” guilt and regret swirl heavy in Zayn’s throat. “I-”

Whatever Zayn wants to say is cut off as Harry slams his bedroom door. Zayn groans and rolls over so he’s facing away from the door. He can hear Harry thump down the stairs and he grabs for his phone. There’s a text from Niall telling him that he got home safe and thanking him for a good night. There’s another from Louis calling him a twat and saying how he spent his life savings on the cab ride. He’s about to respond to them both when Harry opens his bedroom door again and stomps into the room. He’s taken off his jeans, but he’s standing in his briefs and t-shirt.

“I can’t sleep until we sort this out,” Harry says with a glare. “So I’ll tell you why I haven’t told Winnie your name if you tell me why you haven’t asked about us.”

“I didn’t want to push you.”

Harry rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe. He really does look unfairly hot. “Give me the real answer and not the one you think I want to hear.”

Zayn nibbles on the edge of his thumb and debates how honest he wants to be.

“Sometimes it’s intimidating that you have a daughter,” Zayn says, going for brutal honesty. “I love spending time with Liana,” Zayn says quickly, “but thinking about your past and how you have this whole-” he waves his hand around, “history with someone else is intimidating. And I get jealous, easily so.”

Zayn expects Harry to say something patronizing like ‘that wasn’t so hard was it?’ except what he does is sit on the bed by Zayn’s feet and say, “I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t want to bring it up because you _haven’t_ told me about it and I’m not sure if that’s like the past and you don’t want to mention it.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” Harry shrugs. “Honest.”

“Well I do,” Zayn tells him.

“After Winnie and I split up, I started dating this girl,” Harry says and Zayn doesn’t know how they jumped from one topic to another, but he listens anyway. “It was after I had moved to LA and she was pretty and blonde and I don’t know… it wasn’t anything serious, but Winnie and I had decided to be honest with each other about our relationships. I guess I took that too literally because I told Winnie about the girl’s job and her family and all these small things about her and I made the mistake of using her full name and Winnie like… she wasn’t jealous or anything, but she went off the deep end a bit? Like she would look at her social media and then tell me about what she found. Or she would see a picture of her drinking and say that she didn’t want her around Liana. And Liana she was like, a year old maybe? She hadn’t even met the girl and we were just casual, but.” Harry shrugs and meets Zayn’s eyes.

“Winnie hadn’t threatened to keep Liana from me, but it’s not her business. I can make my own decisions. I don’t want other people to have an opinion about what we have,” Harry says sincerely. Zayn lets him take his hand and cradle it in his lap. “I’ve talked about you and she knows how brilliant and kind and good with Lia you are, but the other things—your name and job and face—I want that just for me. Just until you and I decide if you want to meet Winnie and be a part of our little family.”

“Sounds like you’re initiating me into a threesome,” Zayn jokes. It falls flat if the devastation on Harry’s face is anything to go by. “I didn’t-” Zayn wishes he could shove the words back in his mouth. “I’m listening, sorry. I’m taking this seriously.”

Harry nods and lets go of Zayn’s hand to cup his jaw. “You mean so much to me and I’m so scared of losing you. I’ve been on a date here and there since,” Zayn growls under his breath and Harry just laughs, brushing his thumb over Zayn’s lips, “but I’ve never told her about them and none of them have meant anything compared to you.”

“You’re getting sappy.”

“I’m getting serious.” Harry’s lips quirk, but it’s not quite a smile.

Zayn clasps his hand around Harry’s wrist and drags him closer. Harry crawls over Zayn and falls onto the mattress beside him, hooking his leg over Zayn’s on the duvet.

“I don’t think I like fighting with you,” he says quietly.

“Me neither,” Zayn admits. He offers his hand for Harry, but Harry takes his wrist and points his fingers to the ceiling, lining up their palms, then scratching down his fingers. “You’re so strange.”

“I really like you, Zayn. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Harry kisses the top of Zayn’s wrist. “Promise me that next time something’s bothering you, you’ll bring it up sooner rather than later?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods. He swallows around the newfound lump in his throat. He’s nervous, but he’s got to ask, “Will you tell me about your relationship with Winnie?”

Harry nods. He slides further down the bed, still on top of the covers.

“We met at Luna,” he starts. “I was in first year and she was newly graduated with an art and design degree from up north. I would go with Louis and flirt with her, try to get us free drinks and most of the time it worked.” There’s a sad, fond smile splayed across his lips. “We started sleeping together and after a couple of months she got pregnant. We were at different points in our lives and she didn’t want to keep the baby, which like… I get that it’s her body, but I didn’t agree with it. I managed to convince her that she didn’t have to be involved… that I would quit uni and raise the baby myself. Eventually, she agreed that she wanted to keep it too so I brought her to meet my family and she introduced me to her dad and that was it really. I think we both knew it wasn’t going to last, but we tried to make it work for Liana.”

Zayn tries to picture Harry, eighteen and scared with no idea what to do, yet already having so much love for a baby that wasn’t any bigger than an acorn.

“We only lasted for about a month after Liana was born. We kept living together for a few months, but we were constantly fighting and there was a lot of resentment between us. Her dad was retired so he took care of Liana while I went to school and Winnie worked. She met her now-husband soon after and he’s a great guy and I don’t harbour any ill feelings towards him. He treats Liana so well and he loves both of them a lot so,” Harry shrugs. “After I graduated I had Liana full time and when I got an offer to go to LA in the New Year, Winnie encouraged me to take it.”

Zayn can’t imagine the sacrifices that they’ve both had to go through. He can’t imagine doing that even now.

“Before I moved Winnie promised that she would bring Liana out since she was old enough to travel and for a while she did.” Harry swallows audibly and shakes his head. “She visited me the week after my birthday and Liana lived with me for two months in June and July while Winnie went on her honeymoon, but after that I think Winnie just wanted to keep her close? I came back for Christmas and she visited the week after my birthday again and then I didn’t see her until I moved back.”

“That’s like four months,” Zayn frowns.

“Longest four months of my life,” Harry laughs without any humour. “With Winnie though, like… I know she didn’t want to be a mum at first, but she’s been so brilliant through it all. She’s done so much and she’s been so selfless and she works her ass off at her job with hardly any acknowledgement so it’s just… I respect her a lot and I love her as the mother of my child, but nothing more, if that makes sense.”

“That makes sense.” Zayn doesn’t really know what to say. He had a feeling that Harry and Winnie were casual, though he never expected that. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Thanks for asking.”

Zayn nods and reaches for him at the same time Harry surges up.

“You really scared me tonight,” Harry admits against Zayn’s lips. “I thought you were going to let me walk away.”

“I wouldn’t have.” But Zayn doesn’t know whether it’s the truth or a lie.

Harry doesn’t question him, just kisses him with dry lips and red eyes. Zayn kisses the corner of his mouth and then each cheekbone and finally, the crease between his eyebrows.

“Do you have any other questions?” Harry asks. He smooths his hand down Zayn’s chest and lets it settle on the belly of his shirt.

“Not right now,” Zayn says. He falls back on the bed, exhausted. “Sleep?”

“God, I’d love to.”

Reluctantly, Zayn lets go of Harry to flick off the lamp light. He sleeps easier than he has in days.

 

“Liana’s Christmas concert is in a month,” Harry tells him when they’re in the middle of making popcorn and dancing to Motown in the kitchen.

“What’s the theme?”

“Just general holiday songs from what I can tell,” he shrugs. Harry grabs Zayn by the waist and kisses his forehead. “Did you want to come?”

“Will Winnie be there?”

“That’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry says gently. “She wants to meet you before you go home for the holidays and she normally has a Christmas dinner with some of her husband’s colleagues.”

“What’s his name again?”

“John.”

“John, right.”

Harry must be able to sense the panic flaring through Zayn’s body because he slides his hands to Zayn’s lower back. “You don’t have to come if you’re not comfortable. Whatever you decide is up to you, but this was Winnie’s idea.”

“We’ve almost been dating for five months,” Zayn thinks aloud.

“Five on the seventeenth,” Harry says, proudly. “You don’t have to let me know now. It’s just something to think about.”

“Right,” Zayn nods rigidly. “I’ll think about it.”

 

There’s a spring in Zayn’s step as he walks past the receptionist desk and towards his office. He passes Bronwyn and Amelia’s shared desk and sits on the edge of Niall’s.

“Morning,” he says with a smile.

“You’re chipper,” Niall laughs. “Get laid last night?”

“He wasn’t limping so I doubt it,” Amelia chimes in. The sound of Bronwyn scoffing is drowned out by Niall and Amelia’s high-five.

“You’re crude,” Zayn tells her with a smile.

Amelia winks at him before lowering her head to listen to whatever Bronwyn is saying about the computer system they work with. Despite his initial reservations about her, she fits in seamlessly. She’s accompanied them to a few after work pub nights that Bronwyn refuses to attend and she chats with Sophia about clothes and Niall about footy. She laughs loudly and teases mercilessly and even seems to take a genuine interest in all of their personal lives. Although Zayn hasn’t told her much, they bonded over being gay kids growing up in small conservative towns.

“Are you going to work any time today?” Amelia inquires.

“Fuck off,” Zayn laughs, “you sound like Josh.”

“Hey,” Niall says disgruntled. “I tell you to get to work too.”

“See if I answer next time any of you knock on my door,” he says, flipping them off as he goes. It’s only after he’s sat in his desk that he notices Bronwyn hadn’t said a word to him, choosing to communicate in annoyed grunts and huffs. _Fuck her_ , Zayn thinks, _I’ve got just over a month left to deal with her_.

 

Harry bursts through the kitchen door on the seventeenth of November with a chocolate cake haphazardly decorated in sprinkles and a lit candle in the shape of a 5.

Zayn bursts out laughing, holding his stomach as Harry sings a butchered rendition of what he deems, “The happy anniversary song, baby. God, _everyone_ knows it.”

“I love you,” Zayn says, laughing at the way Harry’s face goes slack and he nearly drops the cake.

Harry launches himself at Zayn and they fall against the sofa cushions.

Harry strips in record time and they unearth the lube and condoms from where they’re hidden in a box under the table. He rides Zayn’s fingers and then tears up when Zayn tosses Harry’s legs over his shoulders. He leans his weight into the backs of Harry’s thighs as he fucks him. Harry’s loud and panting and his chest won’t stop heaving. He runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair, leaves scratches down his chest, and bruises on his neck. He squeezes his calves around Zayn’s ribs as he comes then goes lax while Zayn buries his face in Harry’s neck and comes with a low groan.

“There’s wax all over the cake,” Harry whines when Zayn pulls out and kisses his cheek sloppily.

Zayn runs his hand through the come cooling on his stomach and slaps it against Harry’s chest.

Harry gawks at it with wide eyes.

“I can’t believe your first concern is the cake.”

“Well, I was going to rub the icing all over your chest then lick it off,” Harry pouts.

Zayn huffs and licks his lips before kissing Harry again.

He can’t believe he’s in love with such an idiot.

 

Zayn wakes up sometime between Friday’s twilight and Saturday’s dawn, disoriented and slightly grouchy.

He rolls over to check if Harry’s awake, but is met with heavy, open-mouthed snoring. Harry looks so vulnerable like this that it takes Zayn’s breath away. Sometimes he can’t believe that he gets to spend so much time with someone so brilliant. Zayn’s in the middle of contemplating if he should kiss Harry awake when he hears it.

It’s a distant sob, sounding wrecked and frightened.

In an instant, Zayn shoots out of bed and stumbles into a pair of Harry’s joggers. He trips over the long ends after he’s shut Harry’s bedroom door and skids to Liana’s room. He knocks on the half-open door before pushing it open.

“Hey Lia,” Zayn says gently, dropping to his knees so he’s closer to her level.

Liana sobs again, wrapping her arms tightly around Zayn’s neck. Her face is hot and wet as she presses it to Zayn’s cheek. Zayn cups the back of her neck, rubbing up and down her neck as she shakes in his arms. He murmurs soothing words and tries to hum until she’s left hiccupping.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

Liana answers with a whimper.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Liana shakes her head and clings tighter.

“Want me to get Daddy?”

“No,” Liana says sounding small and scared. Her breathing has evened out, but Zayn can still feel how rigid her body is.

“I’m going to get you a cool cloth and some water, do you want to come?”

Liana nods and slides off the bed. Zayn picks her up, guiding her legs until she’s wrapping them around his body in her _Brave_ night dress. Merida has a fierce stance and a smirk on her face that Liana imitated for him not four hours ago.

Although she’s a little uncomfortable to carry, Zayn treks down the stairs and lets her cling to his neck as he dampens a dish cloth and wipes her face. He wraps it around the back of her neck and tells her to hold on as he fills a glass with cold tap water.

Once they’re back in Liana’s room, Zayn turns on the Tinkerbell nightlight near the door and lies down beside her, feeding her sips of water.

“Are you feeling any better?”

Liana grips her cup and nods.

“Do you want me to get your Dad or do you want me to stay with you?” When Liana blinks her big eyes up at him, he tacks on, “Or I can leave. It’s up to you, love.”

Liana hands Zayn her half-empty cup and asks, “Can you tell me a story?”

So they arrange themselves in her small bed with Zayn’s legs awkwardly bent and Liana’s knees tucked into her chest. Zayn lies on top of the covers and makes sure that Liana’s temperature has cooled down.

“What do you want me to tell you about?”

Liana bites her lip. “Daddy told me a secret.”

“He did?” Zayn combs her wispy hair away from her face. “What did he say?”

“He said you’re a king.” Liana shoves her hands over her mouth as soon as she says it, giggling helplessly.

“He did, did he?” Zayn says, helplessly smiling. “Why does he think that?”

“Your last name,” Liana confesses. “He says it means King.”

Zayn buries his face in Liana’s ladybird pillow.

“It does.”

Liana’s face lights up and Zayn worries that she’s never going to go back to bed now.

“Will you marry Daddy so I can be a princess?”

Zayn’s heart clenches at the honesty and hopefulness in Liana’s expression. She’s so young and impressionable and Zayn just wants to cuddle her closer and bury his nose in her hair and just protect her from all the terrible things in the world.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Because you’d be a princess?”

“And you make Daddy smile,” Liana says.

“Do I make you smile?” Zayn asks.

Liana nods enthusiastically.

Zayn falls asleep between telling her about the massive castle his family owns and how Liana would be the prettiest princess in the kingdom.

 

So naturally, he wakes up to Harry sniffling.

“What time s’it?”

“Half eight,” Harry says. “Liana woke me.”

Zayn jolts upright. He’s still in Liana’s flowery pink room with the little girl nowhere in sight.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I hadn’t even—Harry-”

“Why are you apologizing?” Harry asks, eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Cause I fell asleep here. Cause I meant to wake you up. Cause I don’t know if I crossed some line-”

“Zayn,” Harry cuts him off. He sits gingerly on the edge of Liana’s bed and when Zayn scoots against the wall, Harry sits closer to him. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Liana woke me up this morning because she wanted me to come to her room so we could all cuddle together. When I asked what she meant, she said she had a nightmare and you gave her water and now she’s a princess because _apparently_ , we’re getting married.”

Zayn’s absolutely certain that he blushes all the way down to his toes.

Harry’s face is an open book when he places his hand on Zayn’s jaw and kisses him.

“I am so in love with you.” He kisses Zayn again and Zayn flushes further. “And if I wasn’t before, I’m even more in love with you now.”

“I love you too,” Zayn says.

“Daddy,” Liana says, poking her head into her bedroom. Harry cranes around to look at his daughter and then she’s skipping into Zayn’s view. She puts her hand on top of Harry’s where it rests on Zayn’s cheek. “King Zee,” she says quietly.

“Morning Princess Lia.”

Liana’s face brightens and giggles at her father before turning to Zayn with a very serious expression. “You sleep lots.”

“I was very tired,” Zayn tells her. “Your cuddles helped me sleep, though.”

“Good,” Liana says with a firm nod of her head. “Daddy’s going to make sprinkle waffles.”

“I said blueberry,” Harry corrects.

“ _With_ sprinkles.”

“If you behave.”

Liana huffs. All it takes is a raise of Harry’s eyebrows to get her to bite her cheek and drop her arms. “I’ll behave.”

“Did you clean your teeth?” Harry asks.

Liana’s eyes go wide and then she dashes off. If she was a cartoon, there would be a cloud of dust in her wake.

“Come on King Zee,” Harry says, “the princess awaits.”

 

Harry stretches his arms over his head before settling into Zayn’s pillows. Sweats pooled on his chest and abs and Zayn licks a stripe up his stomach. Harry inhales sharply, tangling his hands in Zayn’s hair.

“You’re making my pillows all filthy,” Zayn admonishes.

“Your fault you made me sweaty,” Harry replies. He smirks, all teeth and dimple. His eyes glisten as they rake over Zayn’s face. “You’re so pretty.”

Zayn laughs and rolls off of him. It doesn’t work; Harry follows him and tosses a bare leg over Zayn’s hip.

“M’being serious.”

“You look like a frog,” Zayn teases.

Harry grinds against Zayn’s groin despite the fact that he came all over their stomachs less than a minute ago. “You always know how to turn me on, baby.”

Zayn flushes and refuses to acknowledge how his dick twitches at the suggestive tone of Harry’s voice. Harry, however, smiles gleefully before diving in and kissing Zayn.

He kisses like he’s starving for it—like he needs it. He places one hand on Zayn’s chest and grips his neck with the other. Zayn’s hands go to Harry’s arse and he turns onto his back, taking Harry with him. He thumbs at Harry’s hole, feels how he’s still stretched out, ready. Harry makes a surprised sound into Zayn’s mouth, not bothering to get on his knees and get more leverage.

“You’re gonna squish me,” Zayn says, although he’s more than content with a lapful of naked, post-orgasm Harry, writhing against him.

Harry pulls back, looking impossibly young when he quietly confesses, “I can’t get enough of you.”

Zayn cups Harry’s jaw and just looks at him. He means to pull him closer, bring their mouths together and kiss him, but there’s a vulnerability to Harry’s words that Zayn doesn’t want to break with a kiss.

“You have me, always.”

Harry smiles and kisses down Zayn’s neck. His lips brush over the bruise he’s left on Zayn’s collarbone on his way to Zayn’s nipples.

With the mood officially shifted, Zayn rolls his eyes and shifts underneath his boyfriend.

“You have the stamina of a sixteen-year-old.”

When Harry nips at the tight skin of Zayn’s stomach, Zayn has to steady his breathing. “You’re like a dog in heat.”

“Woof,” Harry grins.

 

Later, when Harry’s in the shower and Zayn’s still filthy with come and sweat and his thighs ache, he sneaks into his art room. He gets out his mixing palette and makes vibrate pinks, soft yellows, and mellow greens. He picks up his paintbrush and only puts it down when Harry knocks on the door.

“Hey.” His smile turns into a concerned frown when he takes in Zayn’s appearance. “Have you still not showered?”

“Um,” Zayn turns his easel away from Harry’s possible eye line. “No. What time is it?”

“Half-seven. I took a nap, woke up, and it was dark. Have you been in here this whole time?”

“Yes,” Zayn answers sheepishly.

“What are you working on?” Harry’s head is still poking through the door. He never fully goes in, he says its Zayn’s “creative zone” and he doesn’t want to mess with the energy. It’s the biggest load of bullshit Zayn’s ever heard seeing as Harry’s one of his greatest muses.

“A painting,” he answers vaguely.

“Can I see?”

“Nope,” Zayn responds, standing.

“Oh, secretive.” Harry whispers. He reaches out a hand for Zayn to come to him. “Do you want to finish your painting while I make dinner?”

“It’s okay,” Zayn says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s much more heated than he anticipated, but he can’t say he minds. “Think I’ll shower.”

Harry sighs against Zayn’s mouth. “Think of me,” he says, before turning on his heels and walking, naked, towards the kitchen.

Zayn swats his arse as he goes.

 

Zayn ends up eating supper at Louis’ house unexpectedly.

He’s in the middle of browsing the crisp aisle when someone says, “Looks like a lonely night,” behind him.

Zayn turns around, ready to flip Louis off, when he sees Robbie clinging to his father’s thigh.

Louis strokes his hand down his son’s head and says, “You remember Zayn, don’t you, love?” Robbie nods and sticks his thumb in his mouth. Louis rolls his eyes at Zayn, but his smile is crinkly and proud.

Zayn sets his basket down and crouches on the balls of his feet to give Robbie a high-five. Robbie slaps his hand so hard Zayn nearly topples into the shelves behind him. Robbie cackles and Louis smirks.

“You eating alone tonight?” Louis asks, eyeing the frozen pizza and six-pack in Zayn’s basket.

“Yeah.” Zayn peers into Louis’ basket and notes the digestives, mini-carrot sticks, wholegrain bagels, and container of soy milk. It’s surprisingly healthy considering Louis’ penchant for all things sweet and full of carbs.

“Well,” Louis says, exchanging a meaningful look with his son. “It’s pizza night if you want to ditch the frozen stuff and eat Domino’s with us.”

“I thought you might be lactose.”

Louis shrugs and grabs a bag of Doritos behind Zayn’s head. “You can’t get between a man and his cheese, Zayner.”

 

“When were you going to tell me you had dinner with Louis?”

“Um,” Zayn says, glancing around. Obviously, he’s not going to find the answer in the fish shop they’re in.

“I’m not accusing you, but he brought it up when he called me yesterday and I was just curious.”

Zayn shrugs and dunks a hunk of deep-fried fish into tartar sauce.

Being in Louis’ house had been awkward until Robbie dragged him around and showed him his room and his Lego collection and his bath toys. Louis ordered pizza and shoved Zayn out of the way when he attempted to pay. They sat on the couch, which Louis loudly explained he never allows, and watched a couple episodes of an American cartoon where a girl transformed into a superhero to teach kids about words. When Louis put Robbie to bed, Zayn was ready to leave, except Louis surprised him by inviting him to have a beer while they chatted. Louis ensured that Robbie was asleep and they smoked weed on the balcony until they were a giggling mess, sharing stories of their mischievous youth. Zayn took a cab home and slept past his alarm, running into the office an hour late.

“We just like, chilled.”

“Well whatever you did, you made a great impression.”

Zayn snorts. He can’t imagine the story of his awkward sexuality crisis when he tried to kiss his older sister’s best friend was the best impression.

“You did,” Harry says, grabbing a greasy crisp with his fingers and pouring vinegar on it. “He said he likes you better because you don’t lecture him about eating cheese.”

Zayn smirks, awfully pleased.

Harry pouts and it’s so unbearably cute that Zayn has to lean across the table and kiss him.

 

Zayn stares out the window as the shops whiz past. They’re getting close now; Harry said it was a fourteen minute drive and it’s been eleven. Harry’s been singing _12 Days of Christmas_ in honour of it being eleven days. He insists on singing it all the way through just to annoy him, but Zayn hardly registers it through his nerves. All he can feel is his pulse in his ears and he grips the plate of Victoria sponge tighter.

“Relax,” Harry says with a laugh. He reaches over to rest his hand on Zayn’s thigh and squeezes.

“S’easy for you to say,” Zayn huffs. He fidgets with his hair while Harry drives calmly.

“You made dessert.” It was more of a suggestion; Harry offering to help him and ending up doing most of the work. “She’ll appreciate that.”

“It’s only cause I can’t bring wine,” Zayn shrugs helplessly. God, all he wants is for this to go well.

Harry’s the picture of cool and collected as he makes a one-handed left turn. While they were getting ready, Harry grabbed Zayn by the hips and kissed him so thoroughly that Zayn dropped the shirt he was holding. Harry kissed and nipped down his throat, sucking a mark near his armpit—a place Zayn’s learned Harry loves to settle his mouth.

Zayn had brought it up one time, while they were lying shirtless on the sofa and had just finished two pizzas and a six-pack. Harry pressed his nose to the soft skin beside Zayn’s pec, inhaled deeply, and nipped at it until a purplish bruise formed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Zayn laughed, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair.

Harry brushed his lips over Zayn’s nipple and looked up at him with glassy eyes. “Remembering,” Harry had smiled. “Wanna remember what you smell like for when you’re not around.”

“Like a dog,” Zayn had teased.

“Woof,” Harry said, dryly. He tangled his fingers between Zayn’s and lifted them above Zayn’s head, kissing and nipping and sucking at any skin he could get his mouth on.

Zayn zones back in when Harry shuts off the engine.

“We’re here?” Zayn asks, looking up at the brownstone building.

“We’re here,” Harry confirms. He leans across the console and kisses Zayn on the mouth. When he pulls back he runs his thumb over Zayn’s mouth. “Liana’s gonna be there and she’s already so excited. Winnie text me a picture she painted as an early Christmas gift for you.”

Zayn’s insides melt as he grins. God, he loves that little girl so much.

“Nothing bad is going to happen,” Harry tells him. “Winnie is honestly one of the best people I know. She loves meeting new people and making them feel welcomed, it’s like, her thing.” Zayn nods, though he must look pale. “And if you want to leave at any point, just say the word.”

“I’m not going to want to leave,” Zayn says. “This is important to you and it’s important to me to. I want them to like me.”

“They will,” Harry reassures for the fiftieth time. “I love you.”

He opens the door, effectively beginning their walk to the house. Harry locks the car then takes Zayn’s hand in his.

“Winnie’s in advertising as well, so you can always talk about that.”

“I didn’t know that,” Zayn frowns. He rolls his shoulders back as Harry knocks on the door. Harry kisses his cheek one last time, bouncing on his toes as footfalls tumble towards the front door.

Liana opens the door with a big smile in a cream coloured dress. Her hair is held back by a pink flowery barrette.

“Zee!” Liana squeals, catapulting herself into Zayn’s legs. Zayn laughs, shoving the dessert at Harry as he picks Liana up from her underarms.

“Hi Princess,” Zayn smiles.

“Does Mummy know you’re going to get stains all over that dress?” Harry asks, pecking his daughter on the forehead.

“I already did!” Liana says proudly. She points to a light-orange stain near the collar. “I helped make sauce.”

Liana squirms, so Zayn puts her down. Harry just rolls his eyes, mumbling that he should have known better. Zayn’s just about to respond with a comment on the tip of his tongue when Liana’s mum turns the corner and-

“Zayn?” Bronwyn says, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“Bronwyn…” Zayn says equally as confused.

Her face goes through about four different emotions before she sputters, “What the hell-”

A man who Zayn can only assume is John, furrows his brows and lifts Liana into his arms. “How do you-”

“We work together,” Bronwyn spits. Zayn scowls and clenches his fist. “Are you having me on?” She asks, turning to Harry.

“No, Winnie, I-” Harry’s eyebrows draw together as he glances between them. “What’s going on?”

Silence hangs heavy. Just long enough for Zayn’s eyes to shift to the left and see a family photograph of John, Bronwyn, Liana, and surprisingly, Harry.

“You going to say anything, Zayn?”

“I’m taking Liana to her room,” John announces to deaf ears.

“Wait this is-” Harry’s head moves back and forth so fast that Zayn hardly sees it.

He feels dizzy and sick and _ill_. His mouth feels full of cement and his hearts in his stomach.

“This is my _creative director_ ,” Bronwyn says as if that’s supposed to explain everything.

And apparently it does. Harry’s face goes through an array of emotions—confusion, shock, realization, and anger.

“You—How _could_ you,” Harry turns towards Zayn. “I can’t believe-”

“I didn’t know!” Zayn says. The words fall out of his mouth and his hands come up defensively. “Fuck, I didn’t know Liana’s mum was _her_.”

“ _Her_ ,” Harry imitates Zayn. He thrusts the dessert into Bronwyn’s hands then grabs Zayn by the elbow and drags him back out the door. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Harry starts. “I can’t believe what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done?” Zayn repeats. “What does that mean?”

“You tried to get me to turn on her,” Harry accuses. His face is stony, Zayn hates it. “The things that you said about her—you don’t even know her!”

“I didn’t know Bronwyn was your _ex_ ,” Zayn sneers. Harry’s face twitches and an ugly part of Zayn revels in the power. Another part of him, the aching in his chest, hates how they’re yelling at each other outside of Bronwyn’s house. She’s probably looking out the eyehole and thriving off their argument. “How the fuck was I supposed to know that? You said her name was Winnie!”

Harry looks bewildered. “Winnie is my nickname for her,” he says with a tight frown. “Bron _wyn_ … _Win_ nie...” He runs his hands through his hair and paces back and forth in front of Zayn.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Zayn reaches for Harry and Harry jolts away as if he’s been burned.

“She’s the mother of my child and the vile things you said about her—that you made _me_ say about her-”

“I didn’t make you say anything.”

“You tricked me!”

God, Zayn hates how Harry closes up when they’re having a row. Whether it’s about the ending of a shitty rom-com or what the best Boys II Men song is, Harry always shuts down and refuses to let Zayn in. Usually Zayn lets him pout until he distracts him with kisses, but this time he wants to push and push and push. It’s all a misunderstanding and Zayn’s head is spinning. He can’t seem to get the facts straight in his head.

“I let you around my daughter,” Harry hisses. “Was this all some sick fucking plot to get back at Bronwyn because she’s motivated and good at her job?” He lets his statement hang in the air as Zayn flounders. His face is blotchy with anger and he stands defiantly tall.

Zayn wonders how they got here—how in five minutes they went from zero to sixty.

Harry raises his eyebrows challengingly before he points to the road and says, “Leave.”

“Excuse me?” Zayn asks, gaping. He can’t believe what’s happening; what Harry is accusing him of.

“You heard what I said,” Harry says evenly. He crosses his arms over his chest and levels his stare. The light by the door makes Harry’s face glow, yet the hard set of his jaw and the firmness in his eyes is anything but inviting.

“How the fuck am I supposed to get home?” Zayn asks.

“I don’t care.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn says before turning on his heel. He lingers long enough that he catches the flash of shock over Harry’s face.

 

Niall picks him up at the corner of the road twenty minutes later.

“Thanks,” Zayn says, sliding into the passenger seat. Niall’s got the seat warmer turned on and car is so warm. Zayn sighs in his seat.

“Of course,” Niall says. He waits until they’ve passed the first intersection before he says, “Want to tell me why you needed a ride?”

“Not really,” Zayn admits.

They sit in silence until Niall flicks on the radio. George Michael croons about giving your heart to the wrong person. It makes Zayn’s headache worse.

“The liquor store by my house is open, want to grab a bottle and then we can talk?”

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut and nods his head.

Thank fuck for Niall Horan.

 

Zayn wakes up with a hangover for the second day in a row. There’s a moment before he opens his eyes where he can’t place where he is—whether it’s his own bed or Harry’s—before the past forty hours come slamming back to him. There’s no way he can drag his sorry arse out of bed and be a functional human being. The thought of going to work has him dashing to the loo and emptying the sour contents of his stomach.

 

He doesn’t crawl out of bed again until noon. He manages to find his phone shoved under his pillow and, upon clicking the home button, realizes that it died overnight. He can’t remember the last time he used it, but it’s not like it matters, he thinks bitterly, Harry probably hasn’t tried to contact him. Regardless, he plugs it into his charger and breathes through his mouth. The room smells so much like Harry, it makes him nauseas. Last night, Zayn hadn’t noticed the way Harry’s cologne clung to the sheets—now, he breathes through his mouth to avoid the heartache that breathing through his nose produces.

After he’s managed to drink a glass of water and eat a piece of dry toast in the kitchen, Zayn forces himself to take a shower. He pauses when he sees Harry’s toothbrush in the cup and his moisturizer on the counter. His boxers are flopped on the laundry basket and, when Zayn steps in the shower, he’s met with an onslaught of Harry’s products: there’s his shampoo and conditioner, his stupidly expensive citrus mint body wash, and the strawberry silicone lube that Harry bought as a joke, but they ended up using.

The hot water practically scalds his skin as he washes as quickly as possible. Slowly, the grime and grittiness that only thirty hours of binge drinking can produce washes down the drain. The water leaves his skin red and warm, yet he avoids looking in the mirror as he dries himself. Last night, he made the mistake of cleaning his teeth shirtless and saw the dark bruise Harry left on his neck. Zayn’s not going to make the same mistake again.

He pulls on a fresh pair of boxers and tucks his phone into his waistband. He digs around his bedside table and grabs the half-empty pack of cigarettes that Harry made him hide. Zayn sucks through the first cigarette to calm his shaking hands, ignoring his phone pinging in his pants. His heart rate spikes erratically, despite knowing the probability of receiving a message from Harry is slim to none and when he checks his phone he sees that, unfortunately, it’s none.

There are however, a multitude of Facebook messages from one Louis Tomlinson.

With a racing heart, Zayn unlocks the phone and waits for the messages to load. There’re three from Louis sent just after 11pm, telling him that he knows what happened and he thinks Zayn’s a piece of shit. There’s another from half past midnight about how Harry went off and shagged another bloke. Zayn’s stomach twists, but then Louis is apologizing and saying it’s a lie—that Harry was so drunk he started crying and clinging to Louis’ shoulders before midnight even passed. The next few messages are sent from a couple of minutes ago, apologizing for lying and admitting that he probably got a skewed version of the events from Harry. The last one is of Louis asking if they could meet at a pub for a drink.

Zayn’s immediate thought is _no chance in hell_. He’s not about to put himself in the line of Louis Tomlinson’s fire.

Zayn locks his phone and scrubs a hand over his face; scratching at his jaw, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s exhausted to the bone despite sleeping for nearly ten hours. If he can’t even take hold of the olive branch Louis is offering, there’s no way he can reconcile with Harry, it’s just—it’s impossible.

So Zayn lights another cigarette and puts his phone face down on the railing. It proves futile, as his phone nearly vibrates off the ledge. The only solution is to open the messages and when he does, he finds that he’s got four new ones waiting for him.

_**I dont know if you know how Facebook wrks mate but it shows when youv read my msgs`!!!** _

_**I wouldnt go out of my way to msg you if Harry wasnt fcked up** _

_**And he is so** _

_**Fix this!!!!!!!!** _

Zayn clicks the automatic thumbs up and turns his phone off again. His stomach gurgles and his throat burns and with that, he crushes the remainder of his cigarette into his nearly empty ashtray and heads inside.

 

The insistent ringing of his doorbell wakes Zayn from his second sleep of the day. His stomach is full of a shitty frozen pizza and there’s a half glass of water sitting in a pool of condensation on his coffee table. He’s just about to roll back over when the doorbell rings again.

“Fucking hell,” Zayn mutters, wiping the dried saliva from his chin. He yanks a hoodie over his head and stumbles to the front door, irritated at whoever has awoken him.

There’s a half-second pause, after Zayn’s already twisted the doorknob, where the possibility that Louis is going to punch him in the face flashes in his mind. But then he’s hauling the door open and Niall’s standing there in an almost identical stature as the day before. Sadly, there’s a takeaway bag in his hand instead of a bottle of alcohol.

“Hey,” Zayn says, opening the door wider and stepping aside. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“It’s half-six,” Niall says, making a face. “Also, there’s something on your doorstep, but I couldn’t grab it.”

Zayn steps outside and picks up the standard cardboard box. Once he’s turned it to read the label, his heart lodges in his throat.

“What is it?” Niall says over Zayn’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” Zayn dismisses. He puts the box behind the couch and leads Niall into the kitchen to grab forks. “I already ate.”

“More for me,” Niall shrugs. He opens the curry box and digs in, barely paying any mind to Zayn while he takes his first few bites. Zayn pours him a glass of water while he waits for Niall to start whatever speech he came here to make. There’s an uncomfortable itch starting beneath his skin and he fidgets with his rings.

“So,” Niall says once his curry is halfway done. There’s a box with naan bread in it and Zayn rips off a piece for something to do. “What’d you do all day?”

“Slept,” Zayn answers honestly.

“Productive,” Niall hums. “Did you do anything else?”

“Had a couple cigarettes, ate a pizza.”

“Nice,” Niall nods. He taps his fingers on the top of the table before knocking Zayn’s ankle with his toes. “Work was slow today, Corden didn’t seem angry you weren’t there.”

At Zayn’s silence, Niall purses his lips as if deciding what to say. He settles on, “Bronwyn showed up at work today.”

“Good for her.”

“I didn’t expect her to.” Again, Zayn lets the silence sit uncomfortably between them.

Niall’s never short on words and he doesn’t disappoint when he continues, “She seemed out of it though. She actually asked me where you were which surprised me. I thought she’d be glad you weren’t in the office, but her whole mood was off. She seemed like, quiet, in some way.”

“Niall, I genuinely don’t care.”

“I don’t buy it,” Niall says. “Whatever Harry said to you, he probably said the same thing to her.”

“Doubt it,” Zayn grumbles. He swallows some water to drown the bitterness gathered at the back of his throat. “He left me, Ni. He told me to leave, so I left. He went back inside to his happy fucking family and just… he didn’t even listen to my side of things.”

“Did you listen to his?”

Zayn bites his lip, defiantly looking at the table.

“Did you think about what it must be like to be him? His boyfriend and the mother of his only child hate each other. That’s pretty fucking awkward.”

“I don’t really want to hear this, Ni.”

“Well too bad,” Niall says. “Imagine how awkward Harry must feel. He listened to you bitch about Bronwyn and he probably had to listen to her bitch about you, too. He unknowingly talked shit about the both of you and now he’s got to decide where his loyalty lies.”

“Obviously with her,” Zayn grumbles.

“Obviously not if she leaves the office to take a phone call and comes back with red eyes and a snotty nose.”

Niall takes a bite of his curry, managing to glare at Zayn the whole time.

“I’m not saying that he’s perfect in any of this and neither are you. When Isla and I fight it takes hours for us to get our heads out of our arses and that’s mainly because we live together and we can’t stay away from the kitchen for very long.”

Reaching across the table, Niall taps his fingertips against the back of Zayn’s hand. “You don’t have to beg and grovel for his forgiveness, but if you think he’s worth it—if you and him and Liana are worth it—get your head out of your arse and think about talking to him.”

Zayn tugs Niall’s half-eaten curry to his side of the table, slowly beginning to feel a bit optimistic as he considers Niall’s advice. “Jesus Horan,” he says, scooping chicken and rice onto his fork with more force than necessary, “when the fuck did you get so smart?”

Niall just throws his head back and laughs.

 

The first half of Zayn’s day goes without incident. He eats a breakfast bagel, catches up on his emails, sneaks into the staffroom to steal a cup of Amelia’s organic hazelnut coffee, and calls his mum to finalize the details for his train ride home. The morning went so smoothly that Zayn’s begun to relax, no longer on edge that Bronwyn will storm into his office and start yelling at him. So when the door slams open, Zayn jumps, knocking over his nearly empty mug.

“Shit,” he curses, frantically righting the mug and preventing the last sips of coffee from spilling over his keyboard.

“Is that my coffee?” Amelia asks.

“Um.” Zayn stares from his mug to her disgruntled face. “No?”

Amelia rolls her eyes and scoffs. She’s only been on the team for a few weeks, but she’s fitting in seamlessly. Her sharp sense of humour and take-no-shit attitude is refreshing.

“We’re going to the pub for lunch,” Amelia tells him.

“I’ve got emails,” Zayn says gesturing to his computer. He slides his eyes away from her and exits out of his Sudoku game.

“Yeah, and they’ll still be there when you get back.”

“They really won’t be.”

“You drank my coffee. You owe me.”

This time, Zayn rolls his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Niall,” Zayn complains.

“It’s a team lunch. We can’t have a team lunch without our leader.”

Zayn knows he’s being buttered up, but he can feel his resolve crumbling. He could really use a midday beer and greasy chips. And Amelia’s probably convinced James that it’s for team bonding and a celebration of a job well done on the van der Watt project. Then again, it’ll be an hour of sitting in a pub with Bronwyn glaring at him the entire time.

“Come on, Zayn. Be a team player.”

“I-”

“Don’t make me get Niall in here.”

Zayn makes a show of pushing his chair back and grabbing his jacket and scarf off the back of it. “You owe me a drink.”

Amelia cheers so loudly, half the floor probably hears it.

 

Contrary to Zayn’s expectations, Bronwyn doesn’t glare at him at all. In fact, she doesn’t acknowledge him once.

Amelia buys Zayn a beer and he eats a chicken burger and vinegary chips while they watch an American golf tournament. Niall cheers too loudly for the 1pm crowd, but no one seems to say anything, only glancing over whenever Niall whoops. His cheeks are red and his hair is a bit of a mess and when Zayn goes to take a piss, Niall follows him.

“I have news,” Niall say, clapping him on the back. The stench of beer is ripe on his breath. James won’t be pleased, but then this wasn’t Zayn’s idea in the first place. “M’gonna ask Isla to marry me.”

“Really?” Zayn says, pleased.

“Yeah,” Niall pushes the door open for Zayn and follows him to the urinals. “During the hols I think. We’re going to Ireland to visit my family.”

Zayn doesn’t remember Niall telling him that. He’s been too consumed in his own self-pity to ask what Niall was doing for the holidays and the thought makes his skin crawl.

“That’ll be sick mate, when are you coming back?”

“29th,” Niall says, zipping up his pants. “Just in time for the New Year’s Eve party.”

“Right,” Zayn nods. “I’ve no idea what to do for New Year’s.”

Niall makes a face. “Oh, yeah.”

Zayn rubs his temples.

“Maybe you’ll have made up with Haz by then. I mean-”

“Niall,” Zayn interrupts. The sickening sense of nausea is making its way back up his throat. It’s been three days and he still feels sick with regret, anger, but mostly, sadness. He washes his hands and tries to shut off his mind. “I think I need another beer.”

Niall grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

Zayn forgets about the package until he’s microwaving the remnants of Niall’s curry. He ignores his supper in favour of getting out the box and by the time he’s gotten the first layer of duct tape off, he realizes he hasn’t breathed in a while. He opens the package cautiously, as if it’s a bomb instead of a collection of Christmas gifts.

Sitting inside the paper filler are the gifts Zayn ordered for Liana. There’s the custom storybook Zayn illustrated; a story he made up of a princess and her handsome father and the king from a faraway land who marries him. He spent hours uploading the images to the website and nearly gnawed his lip off as the outrageous payment was being processed. Then there’re the sparkly yellow socks with beads around the elastic and the matching hair bobble. Finally, there’s the package of temporary tattoos Zayn found just before checkout. It comes with a special pen where you can write on the transparent paper and then transfer the drawing to your skin with warm water.

Zayn’s heart aches as he stares at it. He can’t return it now and there’s no one he could re-gift it to.

The plan was always to wrap it up and deliver it to Liana when he went to Boxing Day brunch with Harry and his _family_ for Christ’s sake, but now that he’s faced with it, he has no idea what to do. There’s no way Harry would let Zayn see her and that thought alone has him clenching his hands and blinking back tears.

He shoves the items in the box and pushes it under his bed. He never ends up eating his supper after all.

 

Seeing Bronwyn at work becomes less and less anxiety-inducing.

On Wednesday, Zayn took to avoiding her if she was in the lunchroom and looking out the blinds in his office to ensure that she wasn’t at her desk if he was walking by. Thursday saw him leaving his office twice even though she was sitting at her desk and Zayn was proud of himself for not flinching when she walked out of the women’s bathroom while he was going into the men’s.

The Friday before their weeklong holiday break finds the entire floor shoved in the main meeting room. Amelia and Josh have it decorated in red and green streamers and balloons. There’s a picture of a Christmas tree taped beside a picture of a candelabrum and the table is filled with various holiday themed treats and drinks. Niall has gold tinsel around his neck and Sophia is wearing a headband with Christmas light bobbles attached.

Zayn nearly chokes on his beer when someone taps him on the back and says, “Happy almost-Christmas.”

“Thanks Bronwyn,” Zayn says. He attempts his best smile, but he’s sure it comes off as more of a grimace. “Happy almost-Christmas to you, too.”

“Thanks,” Bronwyn’s smile is brief, though real. “I know the party’s just started, but can you slip away quickly? There’s some things I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Um, I’m not sure if that’s like, a good idea,” Zayn says, scratching his chin with his blunt thumbnail. “I mean, like. We’re closing for the holiday and then you’re having a baby and me and Harry are like—there’s nothing really to talk about.”

“Zayn,” Bronwyn steps closer and Zayn can see the way her lip wobbles. He’s never been very good at handling girls who cry and Bronwyn is no different. “I just-”

“Yeah, come on,” Zayn relents. He leads them into his office and flicks on the light. It seems much too small and stifling. He feels on display, vulnerable.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Bronwyn starts. “That night you came over, I was so thrown off. I hadn’t known.”

“Me neither.” Zayn’s voice is harsher than he intends.

“I didn’t know, like,” Bronwyn closes her eyes and shakes her head.

Zayn has the urge to close the space between them and hug her or put a hand on her shoulder. As it is, he doesn’t move from his spot near the door.

When Bronwyn looks at him, her eyes are red and her nose is pink. “I know how happy you made them. I should have—should have thought of _that_ instead of just yelling. It was just a shock that it was… you”

“We both reacted badly,” Zayn says because the memory is still so fresh in his mind.

“I’m really sorry,” Bronwyn says, sniffling. “Liana, she—we told her you tried to come to her Christmas concert, but she won’t stop asking about you and we-”

The door swings open and Zayn’s never been more grateful for Josh’s interruptions.

“There you two are,” Josh says with a bright smile. He’s got a sweater with Rudolph on the front, shining red nose and all. “James is making a speech.”

“We should go,” Zayn says with a nod of his head.

“Right,” Bronwyn falters over a smile. She shakes her head and rubs her sleeve under her nose. “Of course, sorry.”

Zayn lets Josh lead the way, falling in step with Bronwyn. “I’m sorry, too,” he says lowly. “Just for, um, for what it’s worth.”

 

For the rest of the party, Zayn can’t get Bronwyn’s words out of his head. He eats sugar cookies and thinks about how Harry says they’re his favourite even though they’re laden with fat and sprinkles and everything he refuses to let Liana indulge in. There’s cheese cubes and star shaped crackers that remind Zayn of when he was watching X Factor with Harry and he attempted to toss cheese cubes into Harry’s mouth, nearly choking when he finally caught one. The party winds down before 4pm and James tells them to get home to their families and not to forget that the office is closed until January 3rd.

He finds himself pulled into hugs and handshakes from colleagues he doesn’t often speak with and when Amelia’s finished giving him a drunken lecture about getting home safely, he resolves to go home. He doesn’t know what to do with his lengthy break. His plans of ice-skating and gift wrapping with Harry and Liana are thrown out the window and he’s only staying at his mum’s for four days, which, is another two than he initially intended to spend.

“Going home?” Niall asks.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods. “M’tired.”

“Too tired for another round at the pub?”

“I think so.”

Niall frowns, but thankfully doesn’t push him. “I’ll see you later? Isla and I are going to have a roast dinner before we leave.”

“That’s poor planning. Christmas is in five days,” Zayn laughs.

“We leave Christmas Eve,” Niall shrugs. “Plenty of time. Anyway,” he claps Zayn on the back and lifts his beer in a salute. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You say that as if you’re not going to call me tonight.”

Niall throws his head back and laughs. It lifts a weight off Zayn’s chest.

“What can I say? Can’t resist you mate!”

Zayn blushes when half the room turns to him. He lifts his hand in a wave, catching Bronwyn’s eye before he leaves.

 

Zayn’s done a lot of stupid things in his life.

He got a tattoo for an ex. He rode his bike after getting drunk at a party. He went streaking in front of the girl’s halls in first year. He left his little sisters home alone so he could meet his girlfriend under the bridge for a quick snog.

But of all the stupid things he’s done, wrapping and delivering Christmas gifts for Harry and Liana has to be among the stupidest.

He’s halfway there when he realizes how stupid his idea actually is. Sending a silent prayer that they’re not home, Zayn tightens his scarf around his neck and tries not to drop their presents on the chilly sidewalk. When he turns the corner onto their street, Zayn stops where he is and just stares. The lights to the kitchen are on and the lights hanging around Liana’s bedroom window are shining. Anticipation pools with heartache. Zayn itches for a cigarette and he pats his pocket to feel the packet and lighter waiting there.

Zayn takes a few steps closer to Harry’s house and when he’s just about to walk up the stairs, the door swings open. Zayn takes a step back at the fierceness of Harry’s stance. He’s wearing black jeans with holes in the knees and has a ridiculous Christmas jumper on. His hair’s a mess and his feet are bare. And _fuck_ , Zayn was not prepared for how much this was going to make his heart hurt.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I-” Zayn’s taken aback by the fury in Harry’s eyes. “I have-”

“ _Liana’s here_ ,” Harry emphasizes, waving towards her window.

“I just came to drop off her presents.”

Harry’s face immediately falls. “Sorry—fuck, sorry. I don’t know why I freaked out.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.

Zayn grapples for something to say. He’s been speechless in front of Harry before, but this is different.

“You shouldn’t have gotten her anything,” Harry says. The same thing he said weeks ago when they were lying in Harry’s bed while Zayn was fretting.

“I already did,” Zayn shrugs.

“You didn’t have to drop them off.”

Zayn shrugs again. He looks down at Harry’s feet, pigeon toed and wiggling—a sure sign of his nerves.

“I’ll just,” Zayn doesn’t look at Harry as he presents the gifts to him.

“Zayn-”

They’re interrupted by banging on the window. Their heads jerk at the same time to see Liana screaming through the kitchen window before disappearing.

“Fuck,” Harry curses, turning around at the same time that Liana barrels out of the front door.

“Zee!” She screeches, waving her hands around and practically vibrating with energy. “Zee, you came back!”

“Hi princess,” Zayn grins. His heart cracks a little more at the way Harry cringes and grabs her by the arm. It’s subtle, but Zayn recognizes it for what it is—an attempt to get Liana as far away from Zayn as possible.

Liana attaches herself to her dad’s leg obliviously and starts chattering a mile a minute, “Daddy and I missed you so much! We decorated the living room, you have to see it! Are you here for a sleepover? I cuddled with daddy because he gets nightmares and he says that my cuddles always make him feel better and we had shepherd’s pie for supper and we’re gonna make a gingerbread house and it’s gonna be so pretty and-”

“Lia,” Harry says, strained. “Zayn can’t stay to help us with the gingerbread.”

“Oh,” Liana says. Her entire face crumbles as she looks from her dad to Zayn. The frown on her face is deep and Zayn tries to think of anything to say.

“I can’t stay, tonight.”

“Tomorrow?” Liana asks, brightening.

Harry won’t look Zayn in the eye. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” Liana’s voice is high, her bottom lip wobbling. She makes the same face when she bangs into a table or trips over a toy or when Harry won’t let her stay up late. She’s trying not to cry and Zayn doesn’t know how anyone’s able to deny her of anything.

“Liana, can you go back inside, please?”

“Why?” Liana asks, shakily. “Are you going on another trip?”

“I-” one look at Harry’s face and Zayn knows this isn’t going to end well. “Maybe for a little bit. I’m going to my mum’s for the holidays.”

“Can I come?”

“Liana-”

“Don’t you want to spend time with your family?” Zayn asks instead. He makes sure to keep his face as bright as possible, not wanting to show her the exhaustion that’s overtaken every inch of his body. “I’m sure you’re going to have so much fun.”

“Nana Anne is coming with Auntie Gem,” she says quietly, nodding.

“That’s going to be so fun,” Zayn enthuses. “Right, Harry?”

Liana giggles the way she always does whenever Zayn calls Harry by his first name.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, dispassionately. “Alright, Lia, it’s freezing out here. Time to go inside.”

“No,” Liana refuses, stomping her foot. She’s in pajamas with pink socks, but there’s no way that it’s keeping her warm.

“Liana,” Harry says sternly.

“I want Zayn to come in!”

“I can’t, princess,” Zayn supplies helplessly.

Liana goes from wobbling lip to full blown wailing in about two seconds flat.

“Jesus,” Harry curses, rolling his eyes. He picks her up and hoists her on his hip. It does nothing to stop Liana from reaching for Zayn. He’s thankful that he’s got her presents in his hand and can’t scoop her into his own arms.

Zayn’s never been the cause for her tears before. It’s a God awful feeling that leaves his limbs heavy and his heart lodged in his throat.

“I have to go,” Zayn tells her. “You’re going to have so much fun decorating the gingerbread house.”

Liana shakes her head and sniffles loudly. She covers her face with her hands while Harry kisses her forehead, soothing her as best he can. Harry starts whispering to her, blatantly ignoring Zayn in favour of comforting his daughter and although Zayn can’t blame him for doing it, it still stings. He’s so used to Harry and him being a team—taking turns comforting her and bathing her and reading to her—that being outside of that makes his skin crawl with discomfort.

“I’ll just,” Zayn says awkwardly gesturing with the gifts. Harry opens the front door and Zayn follows, placing the presents on the welcome mat outside the house. It feels invasive to place them inside and Zayn _hates_ it. He hates this feeling and he hates this situation, but when he tries to think of something to say, he draws a blank.

“Thanks,” Harry says. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something more, but the words won’t come out.

They used to lie in bed and talk until the sun came up, about their upbringings, their favourite movies, their wildest dreams—Zayn appreciated how long Harry took to articulate his answers, but now… Harry puts on a forced smile, “Bye, Zayn.”

Zayn lifts a hand to wave, but before he can get any words out, Harry’s shut the door.

 

Niall never ends up having people over for a roast, but on Sunday, Zayn goes over to his house and the three of them get high.

“That’s heartbreaking,” Isla says with a hand over her chest. “She just cried?”

“Mhmm,” Zayn hums. He leans forward to grab a piece of pizza while he waits for Niall to finish his hit. It’s an extra cheese, extra chicken, extra jalapeno pizza—everything Harry hates on his. Zayn chews it vehemently, feeling better just by eating it.

“That poor thing,” Isla frowns. She takes the bong before Zayn can get his greasy fingers on it.

“That’s a shit situation for everyone,” Niall supplies. He flips onto his back and throws his legs over the back of the couch.

“He was so standoffish. It’s like—I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“He’s probably embarrassed,” Niall says.

Zayn puts his pizza down to pack a new bowl. Once he’s released the choke and let the smoke out of his lungs he sits back and asks, “How?”

“He freaked out, overreacted. Sometimes when we fight, I don’t want to apologize first because I’m embarrassed that I acted like a child. It takes a while to get my head out of my arse and it’s mainly because Isla forces it out of me.”

“True.”

Zayn rubs his temples and sits back. Everything happened so fast. Despite the amount of times he’s replayed it in his mind, it feels hazy and far away, an out of body experience.

“I don’t even, _ugh_ ,” Zayn groans. “I need another hit,” he tells Isla.

Isla laughs and passes it to him. “You really love him, hey?”

“Yes,” Zayn says miserably. He giggles at his distress and rests his head in his hands.

“Talk to him,” Isla advises. “If I hadn’t reached out to this one after our first fight, we would’ve never made up.”

“Hey,” Niall scoffs. “We would’ve!”

Isla laughs and kisses Niall on the forehead.

It’s so natural, so calm, so domestic. It makes Zayn’s head throb.

He takes another hit.

 

Despite Isla’s advice, Zayn doesn’t reach out.

He goes home in the morning and eats a piece of dry toast. It’s not as enjoyable without Harry teasing him of being boring. Zayn finds that he has a hard time swallowing around the lump in his throat and when he drinks a cup of strong black coffee, the bitterness gathers in his chest until he wants to lash out.

Zayn finds himself in his studio ten minutes later. He’s wearing a loose pair of jeans with one of Harry’s belts holding them up and he paints until the fumes burn his eyes and he can taste the paint through his mask. When he steps back to survey his work, he finds that it’s a jumbled mess of greys and pinks with indigo hues haphazardly splattered about. He turns away, ripping off the mask when he’s in the hallway and taking a deep breath of the stale flat air.

It takes a moment for him to realize that his phone’s ringing in his back pocket, but once he does, he yanks it out of his pocket and slides it open without looking at the caller ID.

“‘lo?”

There’s a pause and then, “Zayn?”

Zayn licks his lips, suddenly dry. He silently curses himself for not checking who was calling him first. He doesn’t know what he would have changed about how he answered the phone, but it would have given him more preparation. Or maybe he wouldn’t have picked up.

“Zayn, are you there?”

Zayn takes a deep breath, steadies himself by leaning against the wall behind him.

“Yeah, sorry. Was painting.”

Harry doesn’t acknowledge Zayn’s statement with anything more than a polite hum. “I just wanted to, um, to thank you. For dropping a gift off for Lia.”

“Oh, of course,” Zayn rushes to say. “It was good to, like, see her.”

“About that… I don’t know if it’s for the best that you stop by unexpectedly.”

“I won-”

“I don’t want her to get her hopes up or to think that you’ll be coming around more.”

“Harry-”

“It’s not fair to her, Zayn.” Harry’s voice holds so much finality that all Zayn can do is bite his lip and slump against the wall.

Zayn had hoped—after his conversation with Niall and Isla—that there would be a chance of reconciliation. That Harry would call Zayn and tell him that he was sorry, that he overreacted, that he doesn’t want to lose Zayn because what they have is worth fighting for.

Now, it’s clearer than ever that it’s the complete opposite of what he wants.

The energy drains from Zayn in a single swoop. He lacks the capacity to formulate a response that isn’t cursing Harry out and demanding to see Liana, but what right does he have?

“I have to put Liana first,” Harry says. It’s reminiscent of all the times Harry has curled into Zayn, whispering his worries that he’s not a sufficient parent, expressing his fears and doubts and relying on Zayn to reassure him that he’s doing his absolute best and that’s all that counts—that Liana is the happiest little girl Zayn has ever encountered.

“I know, Harry.”

“I just wanted to clarify that-”

“I’ve got your message loud and clear,” Zayn tells him. He doesn’t say goodbye before he presses the circular red button. It’s moments like these that he wishes he had his old Nokia so he could slam it shut.

 

Zayn heads home on Christmas Eve and meets his mum at the train station.

He’s immediately taken to his auntie’s house for dinner where a massive buffet awaits him. They give small gifts to the younger children, and eat until they can’t eat anymore. He drinks with his male cousins and avoids any talk about his love life. It feels good to be surrounded by his family, far away from the heartbreak of London.

 

On Christmas morning, Zayn is awakened by Safaa barging into his room and tossing his phone on his bed.

“It won’t stop ringing,” she says just before the phone hits his lower back. “Also mum’s making breakfast and Wali’s about to eat it all.”

Zayn groans, burying his head in his arms. He faintly hears the door click shut and he rolls over, grabbing his phone at the moment it pings again. Zayn wills his heart to stop racing.

It only speeds up when he sees that he’s got a two missed calls from Harry.

Even though Harry made his stance on their relationship loud and clear, panic lodges in his throat at the two missed calls, immediately worried that something horrible has happened to Liana.

Zayn clenches his eyes shut, about to call back, when his phone lights up with a picture of Harry and Liana smiling widely.

“Is everything okay?” Zayn says in one panicked breath.

“Happy Christmas, Zee!” Liana shrieks. It’s followed by giggles and Zayn swears he’s never felt more relieved and confused at the same time.

“Happy Christmas, princess,” Zayn says softly. He sits up in bed and plays with a loose thread on his duvet. He waits with baited breath for footsteps or for Harry to chastise her for calling him. Although, he knows that Harry doesn’t let Liana play with his cellphone, so this must be an orchestrated phone call. “Are you having a good Christmas morning?”

“Yes!” Liana says, excitedly. Christmas music plays faintly in the background with no sign of a disgruntled dad. “I wanted to say thank you,” she says slower. Now, Zayn imagines Harry on the other end, telling Liana to slow down her speech and to thank him. “I really like the pressies you got me and I can’t wait to read the storybook.”

“You’re welcome.” Zayn runs his hand through his messy hair.

“I was wondering, um,” Liana takes a deep breath and Zayn waits with anticipation. “I was wondering if you would like to come over and read the story to me.”

Zayn looks around the room as if someone’s there. “Um…”

“Daddy said you would be home soon and we want you to read it to us.”

Zayn licks his lips and lets out a slow, albeit shaky breath. “I mean, if your dad, if he-” Zayn stumbles over his words, heart thumping in his chest, “if your dad says it’s okay, I would love to, yeah.”

Liana shrieks so loudly that Zayn has to hold the phone away from his ear, laughing.

“Um, hey princess, is your dad there? Can I speak with him?”

“He’s talking with mummy. We had pancakes for breakfast with blueberries _and_ sprinkles! And Santa ate all the cookies I made for him.”

“Wow, you lucky girl. What else did you get from Santa?”

“I got a dress and a new book. It says for 7 year olds, but mummy said Santa made it for me because I’m so smart—oh, here’s daddy, he wants to talk to you.”

Zayn holds his breath as he waits for Harry to talk. He can hear him saying soft words to Liana on the other end.

“Bye Zee!” Liana says, hurriedly. “Happy Christmas and thank you for the pressies.”

“You’re welcome. Happy Christmas.”

“Hey,” Harry says a moment later. The sound of the music gets quieter before a door shuts in the distance.

For some reason, it intimidates Zayn to have Harry secluded like this. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do or say, but relief washes over him when Harry says, “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Zayn parrots, robotically.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day,” Harry starts. “I was in a mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“You shouldn’t’ve,” Zayn agrees to which Harry laughs.

“I really, like, I am really sorry. Liana was really happy to see you. She said it was better than the presents you got her. Which, they are really lovely, Zayn. Thank you again.”

“No problem. I wanted to,” Zayn tells him, meaning it. Trepidation seeps into him as he says, “How’s your morning so far?”

“Early,” Harry huffs. “I slept on the couch at Bronwyn’s so we could do Christmas morning together and Lia woke me up at 7 to open her gifts.”

“Oh God,” Zayn laughs.

“It was early.”

It’s quiet. Awkward tension mounting even through the phone.

“So, um,” Zayn starts, “there was an, um, there was another gift in there. It wasn’t for Liana it was in silver and black wrapping-”

“I got it.”

“Did you open it?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, softly. His tone is gentle, galaxies away from the last time they spoke. “It’s really beautiful, Zayn. I love it.”

He wants to tell Harry how it was the easiest piece he’s ever painted. He wants to tell him that it only took him an hour because once he started thinking about Harry, it was all he could think about and he had to get the feelings onto canvas before he drove himself crazy with it. He wants to tell Harry that for months he was the only thing that inspired him to paint and that even now his fingers itch to sketch what Harry looks like first thing in the morning.

Instead, Zayn says, “I’m glad.”

“I-” they both start at the same time. They break into awkward laughter, each telling the other to speak first.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says before Zayn can speak. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you the way I did, back at Bronwyn’s and on the phone, and I shouldn’t have made Niall pick you up that night.”

“How did you know about that?”

“Niall,” Harry admits. “He called me the next day. Gave me a proper chewing out. Louis did too, for what it’s worth.”

Zayn laughs despite himself. “I’m sorry, too. No matter who Bronwyn was, I shouldn’t have said those things in the first place.”

“Not true. You were ranting about work. We all do it,” Harry says, but it’s accompanied by gentle laughter. “It was all just such a surprise. With Bronwyn… it’s just… she’s Lia’s mom, and if we were to ever be on bad terms, I just-”

“I get it,” Zayn interrupts, and he’s surprised to realize he actually means it.

“Yeah? I just keep replaying that night over and over again in my head. I should’ve let you explain.”

“I’m not like,” Zayn licks his lips. He can smell his mum’s breakfast coming up the stairs. “There’s nothing we can really change about that.”

“Please don’t say we’re over,” Harry says quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Harry-”

“I was an idiot. I jumped to the worst conclusions and Winnie and I finally talked about it and she told me everything. I didn’t know that she didn’t talk about her personal life much at work, and I thought you knew about me and Liana and were using us to get back at her. I assumed the worst and you deserve more than that. _Fuck_ , I know you’re not a malicious person, Zayn.” Harry’s voice cracks when he says, “I’m really fucking sorry.”

“It’s—we’ll figure it out. I, um, I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Fuck,” Zayn exhales. This is not how he was expecting his Christmas morning to go. He bends his knees so his feet are flat on his mattress and rests a hand on his stomach, feeling his stomach go up and down with every breath. He can hear Harry on the other end of the line.

“When are you back?”

“The 27th.”

Harry whistles. “That late?”

“I, um, I extended my visit. I figured there wasn’t really anything for me to come home to.”

“Okay. Can I see you? When you get back?”

Butterflies erupt in Zayn’s stomach.

“Of course,” Zayn answers.

“Good. Liana has a Christmas card for you, she’s quite proud of it.”

“I bet it’s gorgeous.”

“Oh, it’s something alright.”

Another pause settles between them, but this time it’s not awkward. It’s charged and anticipatory and there are so many things Zayn wants to say, but nothing that he wants to say over the telephone.

“Alright well,” movement by Zayn’s door catches his eye. He doesn’t know how long Waliyha and Safaa have been standing there, but he doesn’t trust them a single ounce. “I should go. Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas to you too, Zayn.”

 

The worst part about living in a flat by yourself is that when you come home from the holidays, you’ve got no food.

Zayn has a packet of instant ramen and two bags of Harry’s kale chips, but it’s nothing he wants to eat.

It’s only half three in the afternoon and although Zayn’s bone tired and irritated from travelling, he drags his arse to the shops.

He’s in the middle of debating between red or yellow peppers when someone standing by the meat alternatives catches his eye.

Zayn takes a deep breath, and tugs the beanie lower on his forehead. He’s not sure if he’s ready to face Harry again. Despite their pleasant phone call on Christmas, they haven’t spoken again besides a few texts which mainly consisted of photographs of Liana playing with her new presents.

Zayn had debated, for what seemed like the entire train ride home, on whether to call Harry. He’s exhausted from the journey and from saying goodbye to his family—seeing his mum cry when he leaves is always draining. Zayn bites his lips and nods at himself, deciding that the lingering awkwardness between them is too much emotion for him to deal with.

But he’s so busy looking over his shoulder at Harry, that he doesn’t see the grocery worker in front of him with the stack of egg cartons in their arms. He crashes into them, the grocery worker crying out as they drop three cartons onto the linoleum floor. Bright yellow yolk seeps out of the cardboard towards Zayn’s shoes.

He stands there, paralyzed, unsure of whether he should try to pick them up or leave them there. The grocery worker doesn’t seem too bothered with Zayn’s lack of assistance as they mumble something about a mop and walk away. Zayn doesn’t want to look, but he knows Harry must have noticed the commotion.

Zayn pivots from the mess, ready to flee and pretend to be oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. Except, Harry strolls over before Zayn can escape with a package of tofu in his hand.

“Hi,” Harry laughs. “You know, this isn’t how you make scrambled eggs, right?”

“Ha, ha,” Zayn responds. He gestures to the tofu in Harry’s hand. “I wouldn’t talk if I were you. Don’t you remember the last time you tried to cook tofu?”

Harry huffs and waves the package in front of Zayn’s face. “That was silken, this is extra firm.”

Zayn blinks. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

Harry tosses the package into his basket. He rearranges the handles so it rests in the crook of his elbow. “If you wanna give it another shot, you could come to mine and try it.”

“The tofu or…?” Zayn attempts to break the awkwardness.

“Both,” Harry laughs with a small, hopeful grin. His dimple appears and the niggling hesitance that Zayn had diminishes.

“Do you always come on to men in the produce section?”

“Only when I’m trying to get a second chance,” Harry says without missing a beat.

Zayn rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t tamper the flutter in his chest. “You’re such a smooth talker sometimes.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I could be persuaded.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, smile blooming. “Winnie’s dropping Lia off in an hour. I’m sure she’d love it if you surprised her with your presence.”

“Well if it’s for Lia…” Zayn teases.

“And me.” Harry takes a step closer and their hands meet in the middle. Zayn rolls his eyes when Harry lifts their hands and kisses the back of Zayn’s hand. It’s the corniest thing Harry’s ever done, but it still leaves Zayn blushing like a year nine girl with a crush. The familiarity of their relationship comes rushing back. “Please?”

“I mean, I guess. Only because you said please though,” Zayn smirks at him.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Harry’s voice is barely a whisper. “I won’t fuck up again.”

“Me neither,” Zayn says.

He steps forward at the same time as Harry. The dry kiss they share is brief, but it’s everything; I’m sorry, I’ve missed you, let’s not hurt each other again. And although it doesn’t fix everything that happened, it’s filled with the hope and promise that Zayn needs.

“Home?” Harry asks, blinking down at Zayn.

“Home,” Zayn smiles.

 

_**Five months later.** _

“Baby, relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Zayn says, which, isn’t exactly the truth.

Harry laughs, thumbing icing from his boyfriend’s cheek. “You’re like a ball of stress. Everything will be fine. They’re six year olds, they’re not going to notice if the icing isn’t perfect.”

“Their parents will notice,” Zayn argues.

“Their parents will be pumped full of wine,” Bronwyn says, coming into the kitchen. “Those look great.”

“Thanks,” Zayn says, pipping another batman logo on a chocolate cupcake.

“Oh, so you take her compliments,” Harry sighs. He makes grabby hands for the baby in Bronwyn’s arms.

“They mean more from me,” Bronwyn says, handing him the baby. “He’s got to work for them.”

Zayn laughs at the affronted face Harry makes. Things are still a bit shaky with Bronwyn—they’re not best mates by any means, but they have dinner as a makeshift family at least once a month and sometimes Zayn picks Liana up from Bronwyn’s house if Harry’s too busy to. Zayn keeps Bronwyn updated with the office gossip and they’ve managed to exchange friendly words without Harry or Liana’s presence.

“They do look good, though,” Harry says. He bounces the baby on his lap and coos, “Don’t they Milo? Don’t they?”

Milo just spits up on his bib.

“Aaaand time to go back to mama,” he announces. He hands the baby back to an unimpressed Bronwyn.

“Cheers,” she says as she exits the room.

Harry waits a full three seconds before sliding behind Zayn and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“You’re gonna make me fuck this up,” Zayn warns, steadying his hand.

Harry kisses the back of his neck, nosing at Zayn’s hairline. “You’re so sexy when you’re concentrating.”

Zayn laughs, picking up the gold icing to draw a crown on a confetti vanilla cupcake.

“Love how concentrated you get whenever you’re working.” Harry’s hand trails from Zayn’s waist, up the side of his back, and then down his spine. “It’s so sexy.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“Not,” Harry denies. He grinds his hips against Zayn’s arse. He’s half-hard and guessing by the shallow puffs of air against the back of his neck, Zayn knows Harry’s being honest.

“You’re at your daughter’s birthday party,” Zayn reminds him. Still, he rolls his hips back and revels in the power that comes from riling Harry up like this.

“It hasn’t started yet,” Harry breathes. He nips at the back of Zayn’s neck and kisses to behind his ear. “We should go somewhere.”

“We’re not fucking in your ex’s house,” Zayn chastises. He manages to shake Harry off for a full four seconds. “Harry,” Zayn laughs, “later.”

“Baby,” Harry pouts.

“ _No_ ,” Zayn laughs. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m-”

“It’s my _birthday_!” Liana screeches, swinging the kitchen door open and striking a pose. She’s in pink leggings that are sure to get dirty and a frilly floral top that Harry bought her for Christmas.

“Inside voice, Lia,” Harry reminds.

“Sorry,” she whispers. She puts her hands on the counter and peers up at the cupcakes. “Can I have one?”

“What do you say to Zee, sweetheart? He spent _so_ long decorating all of them for you.”

“Thank you Zee,” she says perfunctory. “Can I have one?”

“No manners? Sheesh,” Harry says with his hands on his hips. “You turn six and all your manners get tossed out the window!”

“Daddy,” Liana says through helpless giggles. “I have manners!”

“Where?” Harry asks, putting his hand to his forehead and looking around the kitchen. Zayn smiles and leans against the counter, always enthralled when Harry teases his daughter. “Hello!” he calls. “Liana’s manners, where have you gone!?”

“They’re here!” Liana cries. “Daddy, I have them!”

“Where?” Harry asks, crouching down. “In your hands,” he turns Liana’s hands over, “behind your ear,” he looks behind her ear, “oh no, Liana Moon, where’ve they gone?”

“Daddy,” Liana giggles. “I have them, I promise.”

“Care to show me?”

“Zee,” Liana says, blinking her big green eyes and using her sugary sweet voice, “may I pretty please with extra sprinkles on top have a cupcake because it’s my birthday and they look _so_ pretty?”

Zayn taps his chin with his forefinger. Realistically, they’re the healthiest cupcakes he’s ever encountered. Bronwyn made them with Greek yogurt and chia seeds and hemp hearts and bloody whole wheat flour. There’s almond milk and coconut oil and a bunch of other healthy shit Zayn would never touch with a ten foot pole.

“I suppose one couldn’t hurt. Since it _is_ your birthday and all.”

“It is,” Liana says with a big grin. Zayn lets her choose between the four designs Liana had requested; flowers, crowns, paw-prints, and the Batman logo. Liana chooses a chocolate cupcake with a brown paw print and licks most of the frosting off in one swipe.

“Love you!” She chirps before skipping away.

Zayn stares at Harry with wide eyes, “Did she?”

Harry’s eyes are nearly the size of saucers; big and green and a misty.

“Harry-”

Harry’s crashing into Zayn’s arms before he can say anything else.

“Holy shit,” Zayn says, in disbelief.

“I love you,” Harry says, kissing Zayn’s cheeks and slack mouth. Zayn grips onto Harry’s elbows, kissing and kissing and kissing until they’re breathless and Zayn’s vision is blurry and Harry’s cheeks are salty. Even then, they only stop to breathe into each other’s mouths, foreheads touching and noses bumping.

“I am so fucking in love with you,” Harry whispers. He holds onto Zayn’s waist, capturing Zayn’s mouth in another kiss.

And Zayn—Zayn can’t remember the last time he felt like his heart was this close to beating out of his chest. He holds onto Harry and kisses the living daylights out of him.

“I thought the lack of noise was troubling,” Bronwyn says with a hand on one hip and Liana perched on the other. She’s got an eyebrow raised and a smear of icing on her cheek to match the mess on Liana’s mouth. Harry detaches his mouth from Zayn’s, but their arms are still wrapped around each other. “And who decided giving Lia a cupcake before lunch was a good idea?”

Zayn looks at Harry as they burst out laughing.

“Troublemakers, the both of you,” Bronwyn admonishes with a roll of her eyes. She sets her daughter down only for Liana to run to her father and ask to be held.

“You’re going to get too big for this,” Harry tells her. He hoists her on his hip as if she doesn’t weigh more than a feather and Zayn steps in to wipe a smear of icing off her face. Liana laughs and plants a wet kiss against Harry’s cheek.

“Now come on,” Bronwyn says, as she walks out of the kitchen “we need a family picture before the party starts.”

“Party!” Liana cheers with a fist pump. She uses one hand to push Harry towards the door, and the other to reach out to Zayn. “Come on Zee!”

Zayn laughs as he takes it, catching Harry’s eye as he does. Harry’s eyes are fond, his smile soft as extends his own hand to Zayn. Zayn takes it, more than willing to follow these two wherever they go.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've gotten to the end, thank you so much for reading!!!  
> a million thank yous to kay, as always, for keeping me sane and being the greatest encourager, beta, and friend i could ask for!  
> and thank you to [sandra](https://lovingityeah.tumblr.com) for the lovely art to accompany my piece :)  
> if you're feeling generous, [share the fic post](https://vinoharry.tumblr.com/post/161105060043) or  
> [come chat](http://vinoharry.tumblr.com/ask)


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